


magic to make the sanest man go mad

by jenmishe



Series: more than a candle [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (i admire people that tag every sexual act separately but im not one of them), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Genocide Is Bad Anakin, Happy Ending, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, If Those Three Used Their Braincells And Communicated With Each Other The Galaxy Would Be Saved, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, POV Multiple, Polyamory, Relationship Negotiation, anakin has FEELINGS, gotta stay on track, obi wan’s like head empty only criminal by britney spears playing, something is wrong with anakin and we have to talk about it: the fic, this has way more angst than the previous part, uh graphic talks of death and genocide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 36,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24236632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenmishe/pseuds/jenmishe
Summary: He desperately claws at the Force, the floodgates now open; he screams into it, searching for answers, for oblivion, for something to grasp.Beloved child, the Force murmurs, around him, inside him, at the reach of his fingertips and in his mind, oppressive, omnipotent, omniscient, simultaneously in the past, present, and the future; ubiquitous.Look. Look at what you have done.Anakin finally looks.(Or: Anakin reconsiders his relationships with many things and people, Obi Wan has truly a terrible taste and not a great time, and Padmé singlehandedly saves the Galaxy. Oh, and several love confessions are made.)
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Series: more than a candle [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769797
Comments: 81
Kudos: 591





	1. part i.

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!!! thanks to all of you who said that you would love to see the second part; and to you who are here for the first time, i recommend reading the first part (please do, i worked hard on it.) but, like, no pressure. you will get everything.
> 
> two things to note:  
> 1\. this was supposed to be shorter. much shorter. i have never written so many words.  
> 2\. i’m holding a big sign that says IT’S MY SELF-INDULGENT CANON DIVERGENCE AU AND I GET TO CHOOSE WHICH PARTS OF CANON ARE INCLUDED!!! fuck you star wars you don’t tell me what to do!!
> 
> also. if this wasn’t clear from the first part: i’m very much in love with obi wan.
> 
>   
> big shoutout to jules, thanks to whom i even had the motivation to write it. you’re the best.

Here’s the thing about Obi Wan Kenobi:

—he’s very prone to attachments.

It’s a pesky little thing that has troubled him since his Initiate days, the way his heart longed for little creatures and kind Masters and nice clanmates. People who showed him kindness and even an ounce of love. He cares deeply for people, no matter how much he likes to deny it.

It’s not a problem with _unhealthy_ attachments per se like some have. But it’s still there; troublesome, always at the back of his mind. The fear of losing people he cares about; the actual pain he has felt when he lost them. He doesn’t lose himself with agony, doesn’t give to the dark whisper inside him telling to just _let go_ and let others _suffer -_ the light is his way and it always will be, no matter how much he’s attached to people, how much it hurts to lose them.

But the thing, the exception, is—

The way he, after his whole life living by the Jedi values, doesn’t know if faced with choosing the greater good at the cost of losing Anakin, he would choose the greater good. 

(He actually knows the answer. He just doesn’t want to admit it.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Obi Wan’s not stupid nor oblivious nor blind. If those two think that they’re subtle— well. 

The one thing he doesn’t understand, though, is the fact why Anakin has taken it this far. 

He knows that Anakin has trouble with rules, with the way of the Jedi. He’s too passionate, too easily lost in his own mind and feelings. It’s not his fault, not really. Some are not meant for the Jedi way; the Order holds no grudge against those who choose other things in their lives.

Obi Wan has spent the last years of his mastership to Anakin with that knowledge. It weighted him heavily, the almost psychical feel of certainty that Anakin is not meant for the Jedi, no matter how he excels as a Senior Padawan and then a Knight. He has tried his best to be the Master Anakin deserved, though the responsibility was unexpected and even unwanted at the beginning. 

But as Jedi, they have their responsibilities, their commitment to the Order. Obi Wan has come to understand it long ago; when he was young and inexperienced and swept off his feet by a regal brave blonde. 

“Had you said the word, I would have left the Jedi Order,” he says and it’s the honest truth. But the look in Satine’s eyes say it all - they have chosen their commitments and would do so again. They wouldn’t be happy with the knowledge weighting them down if they took the path away from it.

Anakin knew all of this. He knew what belonging to the Jedi meant, what his commitment carried. His whole goal for ten years was to become a great Jedi; he has dedicated his whole free life to it.

He still chose Padmé.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“I have to tell you something,” Anakin tells him after he spots him in the halls. His cheeks are flushed and hair mussed, sticking a little to his forehead. The nervous tittering of the Force around him sets Obi Wan’s teeth on edge. He looks around, but even with the war and Jedi deployed all over the Galaxy, the Temple is still full of younglings, and Padawans with Knights getting some rest.

“Now?” he asks, raising his brow. The Council meeting was especially long and tiring; he longs for a bath and a moment of peace before the immediate call back on the front. (See, Cody? He can take care of himself.)

The fact that he’s been somewhat - not necessarily consciously - avoiding Anakin, is completely irrelevant.

Anakin straightens up a little and looks at him with a frown. 

“Yes, now,” he says quietly, mindful of the people walking around and smiling at them. Obi Wan waves at the young S’kytri who shyly keeps looking at them and they blush and run away, wings fluttering. “Obi Wan,” Anakin says, his tone impatient.

“Yes, dear,” Obi Wan says, massaging his temples. He doesn’t know if the headache he feels is caused by the nervous Force blasts Anakin keeps sending unconsciously at him, the grime information he has gulling around from the meeting, or if it’s a regular headache caused by Anakin and his desire to _talk._ “Let’s go, then.”

They walk quietly - Anakin almost bursting at the seams with impatience like a youngling and Obi Wan dreaming about a calming tea. They go to Obi Wan’s quarters and as the door closes behind them, Anakin grabs Obi Wan’s hand. Obi Wan looks at him.

“You said you wanted to talk?” he says, amused, and Anakin rolls his eyes, but tugs him closer. Obi Wan lets him, neatly taking his nerves and anxieties and closing them in a box far, far away.

“Yes, smartass, talk,” Anakin says, but he still leans in to kiss him, with a slight smile.

Obi Wan is a weak fool. There’s not a lot he would deny Anakin, truly.

“I’m not in a mood for anything, dear,” he murmurs against his soft lips, and Anakin hums, his flesh hand warm on his waist even through Obi Wan’s tunics. Obi Wan tucks Anakin’s hair behind his ear and swipes a thumb on his cheek, relishing in the feel of him. The lightness and warmth of the Force around them are steadily calming his ragged nerves.

He knows why he’s been ignoring this thing between them for the past few days - it’s just hard to remember when they’re together. It feels like nothing bad can touch it. 

“Why have you been ignoring me?” Anakin asks as he leans away, the perpetual frown still on his face, even with the softness in his eyes. (Obi Wan absentmindedly thinks that soon Anakin will have a lot of wrinkles to worry about.) His breath is warm on Obi Wan’s face and despite it all - despite the doubts, and guilt, and anger at himself, the soft lull of their closeness and the brightness of Anakin all around make him melt at the edges. 

Obi Wan wants to deny it for a second, but he respects Anakin too much to lie so blatantly to his face. 

He sighs and takes a step away, but Anakin’s hands still linger on him. “It’s been a hard couple of days,” he says, his right hand instinctively going to stroke his beard. “I—,” he tries, and then starts again,”—to be honest, I’ve been quite at loss as on how to act.”

Anakin looks like he doesn’t understand, so Obi Wan licks his lips and gently takes his hands into his own, caressing the skin and the rough glove. “I care deeply for you,” he says, and his mind helpfully reminds him of glossed eyes, and slurred words, and loving face. He hides his smile, but the memory helps him settle into himself. “You must not doubt that.”

Anakin stares at him for a moment; then goes deeply red and starts to fidget. Obi Wan can’t quite help his smile now. 

“But I find myself at loss on how to proceed with all of this,” he continues quietly. This talk feels entirely too intimate to be had in the hall of his quarters. “I… I’m not that ominous, you know,” he quips. “I don’t know what you expect of me. I’m not sure of anything, these days. And you…” he stops and then gathers himself. It’s difficult to say all of this out loud - but he must do it. “I can’t handle losing you. This situation is entirely out of depth for me.” Voicing his deepest fears and feelings is a thing that almost makes him psychically sick.

Anakin is still blushing furiously and he clenches and unclenches his hands in Obi Wan’s grip. He clears his throat, his eyes a little unfocused.

“What I feel for you,” Anakin says, finally looking Obi Wan straight into eyes, “is beyond what we’re allowed to feel.”

Obi Wan swallows a little, but there’s no room for doubt - the whole room feels suffocating because of Anakin and his broadcasted feelings.

“When we were together, you said— You said that you gave the Code much thought.”

“Yes,” Obi Wan whispers, the confession almost torn out of him. “I’m not the Jedi I’m supposed to be.”

Anakin grips his hands and surges forward, almost knocking his forehead into Obi Wan’s.

“You’re the greatest Jedi that exists,” he says, his voice passionate and loud. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted to be and more.”

Obi Wan feels the heat slowly creeping into his cheeks and that’s a little ridiculous - he feels like he’s a teen again.

“You know we can’t continue down that path and also claim to be Jedi,” Obi Wan whispers, the ugly truth finally uncovered.

He’s dedicated his whole life to becoming the best he could be. He’s not particularly powerful in the Force nor skilled with the saber nor deeply invested in philosophy. But being a Jedi _is_ his life and he cannot imagine living outside of the Order; he’s worked to the bone to get where he is now, and the thought of leaving the Order, leaving the people closest to him, fills him with dread.

  
  


(He has wondered for months and months, seeing secret smiles, fleeting touches, and loving looks between them - how could Anakin choose this? How could he turn his back on his life and his _family_? He knew that the ties Anakin felt to the Order were not like the rest of them who were raised in it. But to betray it so wholly, to let something flourish and _keep it_ when he should make a _choice_ —

Obi Wan’s been in love before and he made a choice years ago. He’s making the conscious choice every day he sees his dying men, the injustices of the Galaxy, and when he’s feeling longing for _more_ , more that no Jedi should ever feel for. He cannot understand how—

  
  


—but then. One day Anakin makes a joke, and Ahsoka snorts the most undignified laugh he’s ever heard, and Obi Wan feels a smile tugging on his lips. Anakin looks at him, with bright eyes, and wide smile, his whole posture inviting and full of love; he’s asking a question, or maybe making another joke. Obi Wan cannot quite focus with how the sheer brilliance of him blinds his senses in the Force - it’s almost addicting, when he lets himself be pulled into Anakin’s presence. Ahsoka says something, and Anakin tugs at her lek - carefully, with the tender look in his eyes despite the teasing words - and Obi Wan’s hit with the realization so deeply buried inside, that he doesn’t quite understand at first what he’s feeling.

_Oh._

He slows down a little and falls behind them, but the thought that pops into his mind, the things that start spiraling and spiraling, despite his best efforts to release it into the Force or choke it down—

—he understands, now.)

  
  
  


Anakin looks shocked at his words.

“I—I can’t stop being a Jedi,” he says, his voice shaking a little. “There’s a war going on— And I can’t leave Ahsoka on her own— And—”

“Not now,” Obi Wan says kindly, the instinct to comfort Anakin overtaking any growing frustration. He leans back. “But surely you must know we can’t do both.”

Anakin opens his mouth and then closes it.

Obi Wan feels the disbelief rising in him. “Anakin.”

Anakin tears himself away and starts pacing around the room. Obi Wan walks to the living room and sits on the couch, the weight of the situation slowly crushing him.

“The Order is wrong for forbidding love,” Anakin starts angrily, and Obi Wan clenches his jaw.

_"We’re_ not forbidding love,” he says, a little coldly. Anakin flinches and looks at him, slowing down a little. “A Jedi chooses, every day, to dedicate themselves to the Order and Galaxy. If you have other priorities - if you choose other things - you cannot continue down that path. We’re not forbidding love. We’re just asking to choose which way you want to go with it. All beings love. Some just love selflessly.”

Anakin looks at him unblinkingly for a while and Obi Wan’s hit with the sudden thought that almost makes him sick.

He still— He still hasn’t told him about Padmé. Did he seriously think that—?

“With you,” he says, clenching his hands; he feels his headache returning. Great. “I’ve decided to choose you. When the war ends— I cannot, with clear consciousness, remain here. I value my Order too much to live in such a lie.”

Anakin looks aghast, his eyes almost scared. He takes a couple of steps towards Obi Wan, and then— crumbles. Obi Wan leans forward, ready to catch him, but Anakin just falls on his knees, looking up at him.

“I haven’t told you,” he says, his voice full of shame. “I’ve been keeping a secret—”

Obi Wan stays quiet, but he cradles Anakin gently, his hand resting at the nape of his head, despite the hurricane of emotions he’s feeling. He cannot fathom where he failed in his teaching. 

“Me and Padmé,” he says, and Obi Wan closes his eyes. “We’re married. I— I thought that you would hate me— I didn’t want to leave you or—”

“Married,” Obi Wan whispers, and Anakin falls quiet, still on his knees, almost pleading. “You’re— You’re married?”

“Yes,” Anakin says, and everything clicks into place.

“For how long?”

Anakin looks straight at him, eyes full of something incomprehensible, and says, “Since Geonosis.”

Obi Wan lets his hand fall away, and the lack of contact seems to break something in Anakin.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I love her. I just couldn’t imagine—”

“It’s been more than two years,” Obi Wan says. “You— You could’ve just left. We wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“How could I leave with the war going on,” Anakin says, almost feverishly. “I couldn’t leave you. I couldn’t leave any of you with the knowledge that you were dying. How do you think I would feel like if you died and I wouldn’t be there.”

Obi Wan mulls this through, the feeling of the betrayal he has - of how Anakin didn’t _trust_ him with this knowledge, not until he knew Obi Wan felt the same. Of how he lived in such lie, torn in two different paths, and yet stayed in the middle, slowly falling apart.

“Does she know?” he asks and Anakin nods vigorously, inching closer, fingers gingerly clasping Obi Wan’s knees. 

“Yes. I wasn’t hiding you.”

“Not like her,” Obi Wan says, a little bitterly. He knew— of course he knew there was something between them. But he, in his wildest dreams, didn’t imagine a _marriage_ , a commitment as important as the Jedi had to the Order. 

Anakin was truly foolish, sometimes.

“I wanted to tell you,” Anakin says, but the fact stays the same— he hadn’t. He didn’t trust Obi Wan with this, not even when they were intimate, and if not as his friend— He deserved to know as a lover, at least.

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Today, actually,” Anakin says, desperate to make him believe. “Really. I— I couldn’t catch you for days, and now was the only moment. It just— spiraled a little.”

Obi Wan sighs and looks at him; his spine straight, yet face mellow and soft, asking for forgiveness. “Don’t kneel, please.”

“I actually like it here,” Anakin says, but the joke falls flat. He takes Obi Wan’s hands into his own and kisses his knuckles. “I— I love you. Please believe me.”

Obi Wan frames his face with his hands, thumbs gently caressing his cheeks. Anakin’s eyelashes flutter. He leans down and kisses him slowly, cherishing the way Anakin’s mouth falls open so sweetly, the knot in his stomach lessening a little.

As he has said. He’s just a weak fool.

  
  


(Sometime later, as they lay together on the couch, mindlessly watching some holo, bodies pressed close, Anakin's hand starts to wander.

Obi Wan's a little surprised to discover that he doesn't mind the closeness as he at first thought he would: he isn't very tactile and he never was, and he thought that Anakin's constant need for touch would grate on his nerves. But it's actually quite nice, to spend time together, sharing warmth, both in the other's space. It soothes some primal part of him, makes his mind quiet as he lays tangled with Anakin.

He catches his hand as it starts to warm its way under his tunic and raises his brow.

"And what do you think you're doing?" he asks, having a pretty good idea of his intentions. 

Anakin grins sweetly. "Trying to say sorry," he says and leans in a little; Obi Wan sighs, but lets him kiss him, the touch chaste and quick. Anakin's hand efficiently finds its way to Obi Wan's stomach, his palm warm and calloused. "Do you want it?" he asks, peppering light kisses on Obi Wan's cheeks, the hand going lower and lower.

Obi Wan only hums, getting quite relaxed under Anakin's touch; he grabs his nape and hauls him for a proper kiss, suddenly hungry for the way Anakin's mouth always grows so pliant under him. Anakin makes a happy noise, fingers lowering the waistband of his pants as his gloved hand lands on Obi Wan's ass.

He leans back and brings his hand to his mouth, licking the palm; Obi Wan watches him with dark eyes, the arousal quickly raising its head and making his skin buzz. Anakin impatiently reaches for his cock, his fingers closing around him and starting a slow rhythm to bring him to full hardness, Obi Wan’s senses coated in their mutual desire.

"Force, you're so big," Anakin says a little breathlessly, looking down at the way his hand encircles him, moving around and over, the head disappearing and showing again with Anakin’s moves. It's so indecent, on the couch, with both of them fully clothed. Anakin starts kissing his jaw and neck, leaving small bites, his hand moving faster, encircling the head and spreading precome.

"Come here, dearest," he murmurs and Anakin raises his head, his eyes dark and pupils dilated - Obi Wan's sure he doesn't look any better. Anakin stares right into his eyes as he squeezes a little, finally punching a small gasp out of Obi Wan. He glows with satisfaction in the Force and hungrily leans down, kissing him roughly. Obi Wan moans, closing his eyes, the tightening in his gut building and building, his hands grabbing Anakin's jaw.

"You make the sweetest noises, Master," Anakin says into his mouth, practically gloating as he feels Obi Wan losing more and more of his composure. He kisses him some more, his tongue almost as relentless as his hand, before he leans away with a small sound, Obi Wan's heavy breathing and the obscene sound of flesh the only noise in the room. He takes Obi Wan's earlobe into his teeth, and Obi Wan's fingers tangle in his hair, tightening almost immediately, desperate for something to grab. Anakin moans sweetly into his ear, and says, "Come on, Master, come for me."

He doesn't have to wait for long; all the tensions have kept him almost bursting out of his skin for all day, and Anakin's attention is far sweeter than them, making him lose his mind quite fast. He comes with a quiet groan, hand fisted in Anakin's hair to keep him and his voice that's blubbering nonsense close. He closes his eyes to bask in the feeling, Anakin's smugness surrounding him everywhere.

He leans a little from him, relaxing his fingers, feeling very warm in the robes he's still wearing. Anakin brings his wet hand to his mouth, and staring straight into Obi Wan's eyes, starts to lick the come from his fingers, his eyes twinkling.

"You're insufferable," Obi Wan says, but he can't hide the roughness of his voice; Anakin's grin answers everything.

“Padmé has invited us for a dinner tomorrow,” Anakin says softly some time later, as Obi Wan has finally had his tea and bath. Obi Wan raises his eyebrow and looks at him sideways.

“Us?”

“Yeah, us,” he says, and Obi Wan only hums.

It’s going to be— interesting.)

  
  
  


“Master Kenobi,” Padmé says as they enter her apartment, the guard quietly closing the door behind them. She looks a little intimidating, as Senators tend to do, with an air of not-trying-too-hard. The golden, silky cape flows behind her, gently framing her shoulders and forearms, and the long earrings glitter with her every move; the hair is pinned up in a way to draw the eye to the jewelry. Her red dress is perfectly between “casual dinner with friends” and “this outfit is worth more than your whole lives will ever be”.

Overall, Obi Wan’s a little impressed.

“Senator Amidala,” he says respectfully, and Anakin sighs, stepping closer to her. 

“Honestly, you two,” he says exasperated and then leans down to Padmé. He quickly looks at Obi Wan, and Obi Wan raises his eyebrow. Anakin flushes a little and kisses his wife on the cheek.

She bites her lip, suppressing her smile, and pats him gently on the cheek.

“This doesn’t need to be any more awkward than it already is,” Padmé says. “Anakin, please show our guest the way.” She gracefully walks to the kitchen to instruct the droid on something. 

Obi Wan walks slowly to Anakin, and says, a little teasingly, “Well, master of the house? Show me the way.”

Anakin mumbles something under his breath, a little red, and Obi Wan doesn’t even want to suppress his grin.

“She made that Corellian dish you like so much,” Anakin says, and stops, visibly trying to find the words. “Try— try not to antagonize each other too much. Please.”

“I think of the Senator as my friend, Anakin,” Obi Wan says, rolling his eyes; he’s silently a little touched by the gesture of making a meal to his liking. Especially since Anakin always complains that’s it’s too much grilled and he has noticed Padmé is not the biggest fan of meat. “Do not think so highly of yourself - we will hardly be acting like little younglings in a sandbox fighting over our favorite toy,” he continues as they sit next to each other at the table in the dining room, and Anakin kicks him a little.

“But what a delightful toy it is,” Padmé throws as she enters the room, and Obi Wan snorts a little; Anakin blushes so beautifully.

The first minutes are spent on some small talk; Anakin visibly trying to fit into some role with both of them present at the same time, knowing about each other. He struggles a little about showing affection, but Padmé takes it all in a strike, throwing question after question at Obi Wan about every topic that comes to her mind.

Obi Wan finds her an incredible conversationalist - after a while he forgets the situation they’re in, and even Anakin relaxes a little after ripping himself apart on whom to focus on. 

Truly, the powers of politicians.

“The food is delightful,” Obi Wan says as they start eating the cake, and Padmé flushes a little, a pleased smile on her face.

“Cooking is not one of my fortes,” Padmé says, and Anakin snorts a little: she throws a look at him. “So I’m glad to hear that I didn’t disappoint. I tried not to rely on outside help—” she sighs, and then admits, a little defeated, “At least not too much.”

“Senator,” Obi Wan says, even though they’re well past such pleasantries - it’s almost a joke by now, with the way Anakin fidgets every time they throw official titles at each other. By the amused look Padmé has, she’s aware of it, too. “I spend most of my time on the battlefield with rations or at the Temple with a canteen that’s unable to carter to every Jedi wishes. Raw fruit would make me happy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Master Kenobi,” she says and smiles at him. 

Obi Wan doesn’t hold any grudge towards her - it’s not the Jedi way. But he sometimes has unwanted thoughts, at the back of his mind - of how he knew there was something between them and when he confronted her, at the very beginning, she denied everything. She promised she would let Anakin go. And yet.

But, Obi Wan loves Anakin, too, so he knows it’s not that easy. He tries not to be resentful. 

“Okay,” Anakin finally says, after he finishes the cake, even though Padmé and him still eating. “Are we going to talk about it?”

Padmé looks at him, raising a forkful of cake. “I don’t know, are we? You seemed really adamant about keeping it a secret.”

Anakin scowls at her, and looks at Obi Wan, his jaw clenching.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he says, and he seems so defeated. “I messed everything up, I know. But—” he tentatively takes each of their hands to his own, reaching through the table for Padmé’s. “I love you both, so much. I don’t _want_ to mess it up.”

Obi Wan sigh, resisting the urge to rub his face. Honestly, the things he gets himself into. (Cody, if he knew about any of this - which he of course can’t know - would laugh so hard he would get sick. He probably would say something about karma and his Force throwing all the headaches he causes back at him.)

“Any other secrets you want to share with me?” he asks, halfway joking, but Anakin straightens up suddenly and lets go of his hand. “Anakin?” he asks, suddenly worried.

“You didn’t tell him,” Padmé says, not asking. She sounds defeated.

Obi Wan puts his cake away and turns to fully face Anakin. “Didn’t tell me what?”

Padmé quietly stands up, and takes the dishes, saying, “I will clean it up.” She ignores the cleaning droid, clearly standing in the corner, and goes away.

Obi Wan feels the dread suddenly filling him. The Force is tense, warning him of something. He tries reaching out with it, but Anakin has completely shut himself off, leaving a cold void.

Anakin’s eyes are a little dark. Empty.

“Two years ago,” he says, his tone betraying nothing, “you know my mother died.”

Obi Wan feels his heart clenching and he tries to reach out to Anakin psychically, but the man doesn’t react, so Obi Wan drops his hand away. “Yes,” he says quietly; full of guilt.

“The Natives kidnapped her: the Tusken Raiders. My mother’s husband told me which group it was. I went to their camp and found her—” his voice finally breaks, and Obi Wan aches and aches and aches.

“Anakin,” he says, helplessly, but Anakin is in his own world, not even looking at him.

“Her body was cut; mutilated. She was bloodied and broken, couldn’t move on her own,” he says and the tears are starting to fall from his eyes. Obi Wan wants to drop to his knees, to comfort him. He doesn’t move.

“She died in my arms. She— She said she loved me. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save her!” He stands up, suddenly furious, and the Force tremors around him. _Beware,_ it almost whispers to Obi Wan.

“Anakin,” Obi Wan tries again, also standing up, but Anakin completely ignores him and starts to pace around, his moves aggressive and full of overwhelming despair. Obi Wan feels the horror rising in him, slowly choking him.

“She died and I could only— watch— She— They tortured and raped and _destroyed_ her, for nothing! For amusement! Just because they could!” he stops and looks Obi Wan into eyes, and Obi Wan shudders, terrified of what he’s about to hear. “They were like animals - _mindless_ , inhuman.”

Obi Wan feels sick.

“So I killed them,” Anakin confesses at last, but the words are just a confirmation of what Obi Wan already knows from the tremors around them, the coldness. He never in his life felt such cold from Anakin. “Everyone. I— I know it was wrong. But I can’t imagine doing otherwise. They deserved punishment.” His tone is sure of his righteousness; of his right to deliver punishment, to decide about fate, life and death. To get revenge. He feels big, overwhelming; like an executor.

Obi Wan has to cover his mouth to avoid throwing up and finds that his cheeks are full of tears. His grief— for the lives lost, the children murdered, for a woman caught in needless violence, for Anakin’s consciousness and innocence; it overwhelms him. He grasps the table not to fall down.

“You don’t even regret it?” he says almost breathlessly after some time, where the only sounds filling the silence were their ragged breaths. “You—” And he looks at him, at the man he thought he knew better than anyone else, than himself. The man he would sacrifice everything for, would give up every one of his ideals.

He doesn’t recognize him. There’s a sea of coldness around them. Obi Wan has felt it twice in his life, when he held the bodies of those closest to him.

“No,” Anakin says. “I don’t regret it.”

Obi Wan nods - once, twice, and then stands straight, suppressing everything deep, deep down, so he doesn’t choke on it. 

“I must go,” he says quietly, jaw clenched so tight that something creaks, and as he goes to the door, he notices Padmé sitting alone in the living room, her hands anxiously clenched on her dress.

He feels a new wave of disgust. “You knew?” he asks; states.

Padmé nods, ashamed. “Yes,” she whispers. She looks at him, eyes full of tears. “I love him,” she says as if it explains everything.

Obi Wan cannot wrap his head around any of it. He actually doesn’t know any of these people.

“I love him, too,” he says, past the bile in his throat. “That doesn’t excuse anything.”

They don’t move as he leaves.

Obi Wan doesn’t know what he would do if they tried to stop him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(He tries meditating, but all he feels is the cold. He tries sparring, tries sleeping, tries training so hard that he falls down from exhaustion and famine, tries meditating once again, tries reaching out to the Force just to _feel_ some warmth, some good— surely there must be something—

_Beware_ , it only says. The Force is not kind nor warm - it just is, everywhere, and right now, it fills Obi Wan with dread and horror with his every move.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“The Senate has made a request for a Jedi to assist a Senator,” Master Windu says during their meeting. “A member of the Council, specifically.”

“Surely we are more needed on the battlefield or to protect the Temple, than amusing ourselves with Senators,” Plo Koon says, his holo flickering a little. “These are not the times where Jedi could go wherever they had to protect one person.”

Mace nods, making a wry face. “Well, the Chancellor doesn’t see it this way. It has been his personal request for a single Master of the Council to accompany the Senator. The talks are important for the whole war effort and convincing the planet to join Republic forces could change the tides,” he says, and then sighs a little, allowing himself a moment of weakness. He raises his head, looking at every member. “The planet is distrustful of Jedi— the Chancellor feels that having one Jedi, not to overwhelm them, and a respected Master, could change their view.”

“I suppose it makes sense,” Ki-Adi-Mundi throws, though he doesn’t look happy. Obi Wan looks around and sees that every member tries not to show what they think of this whole charade. He agrees with them— none of them want to leave their Marshall Commanders solo in charge, to leave their men alone in the battlefield, just to act as some arm puppets for politicians; they’re members of the Council, for Force’s sake.

“Choose Master Kenobi, we feel we must,” Master Yoda says, thumping his stick on the ground. Obi Wan contemplates closing his eyes— of course. It’s always him. It’s like the Force enjoys having him suffer, all around. “Friend of the Senator, he is. Trust him, the people usually do,” Yoda says, and then throws, a little mischievously, “a great Negotiator, indeed we have. Success this mission has to be.”

“Master—” Obi Wan tries to say, but Yoda hums loudly.

“Decided, we have. Agree, the rest does?” Actually, most of the members seem relieved it’s not them while they nod. Obi Wan thinks that he will remember it in the future.

“Who’s the Senator, then?” he asks, but with the way Force is almost choking him— well. He begs for it to be Bail Organa. They’re friends, right? “And when are we leaving?”

“Senator of Naboo, Amidala,” Mace Windu says, and Obi Wan thinks, of course. Of course. He allows himself to close his eyes for a second, full of despair; but his shields are strong. He cannot slip, not there. “The departure is planned for today’s evening and we estimate the mission could take even a month.” Mace looks truly apologetic. “I know it’s far from ideal, Obi Wan.”

Obi Wan’s the youngest member of the Council, a great Master. He’s respected and admired, and he cherishes all of that, even despite the bitter taste of betrayal he feels when he looks at his fellow Masters and _knows_ what he has done, what he’s hiding. 

He still almost thumps his head on his bent knee right in front of them.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Senator,” he says and nods shortly as they meet in front of the ship, Padmé with two of her handmaidens and one of her guards. There’s no trace of the teasing he has allowed himself before.

Padmé doesn't look him into his eyes. “Master Kenobi,” she says, quietly. It’s strange to see this woman, strong and powerful and fearless, so meek. “I didn’t know—” she tries to say, but Obi Wan coughs slightly, not caring how rude he may seem to be.

“Well, let’s get this over with, shall we?” he says, and the way he’s been clenching his jaw for minutes now— well, it can’t be healthy. “If you could excuse me, Senator,” he says, and then turns to Cody, and declares, truly remorseful, “You know I wouldn’t leave you if I had the choice.”

Cody sends an uneasy look at Padmé, who’s now turned back to them and is talking quietly with the people around her. “You always get yourself into the most interesting situations, General,” he quips. Obi Wan relaxes a little and sends him a ghost of a smile. 

“You have no idea,” he sighs and then clasps him on the shoulder. “Take care, alright? I’ll get back as soon as I can.”

“You better,” Cody says, his posture and face as straight as any soldier’s, but with a twinkle in his eyes. “I will have a lot of paperwork for you when you come back.”

“Cody,” Obi Wan says, betrayed. “I will have to spend a month with politicians. I’m _begging_ you.”

“You could have just not accepted the place on the Council, you know,” Cody drawls. “Then you wouldn’t be the High General, and I wouldn’t have to deal with _so. much. stuff._ ” He would definitely use a different word if they were alone.

“For what it’s worth,” Obi Wan says, “I’m also regretting that decision every day.”

Cody finally snorts, and Obi Wan feels— well, not good. But a little better.

(He doesn’t think how he hasn’t seen Anakin for days, now. He tries no to think about it or about the void he has felt around him.)

  
  


The planet Palvonta is situated in the Mid Rim, not far from the Chommell sector - which is probably one of the reasons why Padmé was chosen for the mission.

Most of the journey there is spent in silence from both of them - Obi Wan has taken to meditating in his cabin, trying to untangle the mess that are his emotions. He has seen Padmé only a few times; Moteé, the handmaiden chosen to accompany her, even less. 

(Obi Wan has spent a great time trying to remember all of Padmé’s closest handmaidens, just for the simple fact of not making a fool of himself again, like all those years ago on Naboo, when his Master was deeply amused by Obi Wan’s shock. He remembers - with some deeply hidden affection - how Padmé and Sabé have tried to take his mind off his grief by making him guess which one was the Amidala at the time. Sometimes it even worked.)

He senses that Padmé tries to talk to him a few times, but he makes sure to be unavailable all the time - he’s not really ready for any kind of talk from her, especially the one she wants to initiate. He knows she talks with Anakin sometimes, can sense it even across the ship.

The way he spends practically every minute awake on meditation makes him deeply aware of the way their - _Anakin’s_ \- betrayal has cut so deep. His mind cannot reconcile the image of the Anakin he knows and the Anakin that stood in front of him that day; full of anger and no remorse. 

And the thing that makes Obi Wan the most shameful is: he still, even despite it all, loves Anakin. He feels capable of forgiving him, if only Anakin realizes that the things he has done, the act he has committed, is sinful and should be regretted to his dying days. It makes his head hang low, but the way he’s ready to open his arms if - _when_ \- Anakin realizes the full extent of his actions, is a simple truth. Anakin may have saved millions of lives - but he has blood on his hands, innocent and vengeful blood, that no reason can justify.

And this - more than the deep love he feels, or the attachment he knows is tightly intertwined into his bones and muscles, or the fact he’s breaking every rule by hiding Anakin’s marriage - is what makes it definite that he should leave the Jedi as soon as the situation allows it. Jedi are forgiving and they believe in the good in everyone - but Obi Wan’s love is not selfless, and the way he loves, _chooses_ Anakin even with knowledge of the things he has done, when he’s drenched in blood—

He’s no Jedi.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Obi Wan has spent approximately three hours on Palvonta when he realizes that something is deeply wrong with it.

It’s not a well-known world - a little far from the center of the Galaxy, with no major achievements. It’s been staying neutral for centuries, capable of managing things on its own; the army protects itself, and they deal with both the Republic and Hutts, not mixing itself in the conflicts. Obi Wan has no knowledge of any Palvonti Jedi.

But the Separatists forces are creeping closer to its sector every day, and with the knowledge of inevitable blockade, the Senate has decided to try and make it join Republic’s efforts. The mines they have on the planet simply cannot be allowed to fall into the Separatists’ hands.

The datapad Obi Wan has is clear; make the planet join Republic, by any means necessary. They _have to_ bring GAR here, protecting precious mines and the osmiridium deep in them.

The planet is an eerie wasteland, and as their ship starts to descend, Obi Wan can see some kind of ruins in the distance. It seems a little uninhabited, despite the way the three suns blink slowly in the sky.

As they walk out of the ship, there’s a group waiting for them. The people are humanoid, with very pale skin, short hair, and big, glassy eyes; they all look very similar to each other, with no way of showing their gender.

“Welcome on Palvonta, travelers!” says one of the group, with their head held high and ornate gold jewelry. “My name is Wa’av, and I’m the mer of the capital.”

“Welcome, Wa’av,” Padmé says, bowing her head respectfully. Obi Wan’s standing close to her right and he looks quickly around to determine everything he can in the span of seconds. The others that are near Wa’av seem to be some kind of servants; they stand in the back, quiet, as Wa’av takes voice and leads the group. Standing on the edges are guards, looking all the same in their white armor, faces completely covered.

Reaching out with the Force, he doesn’t feel anything sinister - just quiet and stillness.

“This is Master Obi Wan Kenobi, the Jedi chosen to accompany me,” Padmé says calmly, her voice modeled perfectly to make everyone trust her. “And this is Moteé, my personal assistant.” She nods at Moteé on her left, who stands still, covered by her robes, her face hidden, but not obviously so. Moteé bows, a little deeper than Padmé.

Obi Wan bows his head a little to Wa’av, who turns their big, clear eyes on him. He has spent too much of his life negotiating with species of any kind to feel nervous - but it’s kind of eerie, seeing humanoid faces that are so blank and expressionless.

“A Jedi,” Wa’av says, their tone unreadable.

“Yes,” Padmé says, and Obi Wan stays quiet. He will let her take voice - he’s here just to protect her. “A Master of the Jedi Council. You may have heard of him. It was said I would be coming with a Jedi.”

“Yes, of course,” Wa’av says and lazily moves their hand; the servants quietly come and help them with their baggage. “Let me show you your quarter, please. The Great One will meet with you in a few hours.”

Palvonta has a single leader, called The Great One; a wonderful sign, surely, but Obi Wan tries not to be negative. The data they had on the planet wasn’t very detailed; just simple suggestions on what to avoid, what’s the hierarchy, and what kind of natural dangers could await them.

As they begin walking down towards the great, simple white building, Obi Wan stays close to Padmé. They may have their disagreements, but Obi Wan can prioritize his mission above all else.

“Try not to shoot anyone during the first hour,” Obi Wan murmurs quietly to her, as Wa’av leads a few steps ahead and the servants circle them. It’s the first words he spoke to her since that disastrous evening in her apartment. He feels a faint wave amusement from Moteé as Padmé sends him a quick glare.

“And you try not to jump out of any windows while we’re here,” she says quietly through her teeth.

Wa’av, with graceful, but stiff moves, slows down and starts walking next to them before Obi Wan can respond. He’s standing between them and Padmé, and with some discomfort, he discovers that Wa’av doesn’t smell of anything like they just got out of a sterilization chamber.

“We’re honored by your visit, Senator,” Wa’av says. “The Great One certainly values the Republic and we’re happy that our planet is considered for joining. However, you must know that Palvonti greatly value our freedom. The Great One is not sure on which conditions we are considered.”

“The Republic is an institution of freedom and free choice,” Padmé says. “Every planet in the Republic keeps its sovereignty and culture. With Palvonta in the Republic, we both could greatly help each other in these uncertain times.”

“You speak to me of freedom and free choice, Senator,” Wa’av says as Obi Wan quietly listens to them, analyzing the surroundings. They have entered the gardens of the Palace, and Obi Wan for the first time feels some kind of life around; there are trees, and flowers, and birds, albeit a little quiet and bleak. For a planet known for mines, there’s a strange lack of any workers and miners, at least from what he has seen. “And yet you keep the clone army.”

Padmé’s lips get thinner and Obi Wan tenses a little. “The Republic must protect itself and every planet from the Separatists’ terrors. The clone army is not ideal, but for now, it is our only choice.” Padmé seems a little pained; Obi Wan knows she’s one of the most anti-army and anti-war politicians around. “I must assure you, that I fight every day for our soldier’s rights. They are not mindless slaves nor treated like it.”

Wa’av just hums and their big eyes of one color without any whites or pupils, like a giant field of grass, suddenly are on Obi Wan. “Master Kenobi,” Wa’av begins and Obi Wan focuses on them, as they pass the gardens and enter the Palace. “The Jedi are like religion, are they not?”

“Not exactly, mer,” Obi Wan says, respectful, with his hands deep in his robe’s sleeves. “The Jedi are a group of Force-sensitive people connected by our philosophy. We believe in things we are feeling and create our own culture around it.” He stops and tries a different angle. “Many cultures have the Force in their beliefs or experienced it, just with a different name for it— the thing that connects everything and is in every living thing. Do you have something like that?”

Wa’av doesn’t have any lids; their eyes are big and ominous, without any kind of expression, and they don’t blink. “We have The Great One.”

Great. It’s one of _those_ planets.

  
  
  
  


They are shown their quarters and told that someone will come to fetch them for dinner, but for now, they can rest. The main bedroom is Padmé’s, full of splendor and expensive-looking accessories. It has a few adjacent bedrooms, and the closest two to the main one are Obi Wan’s and Moteé’s. They leave their stuff and sit together quietly in the living room, the atmosphere tense. After a few minutes Moteé finishes her search for any kind of bugs or devices and nods, then silently goes to the kitchen, leaving them alone.

“I’m worried about the way Wa’av kept talking about this Great One,” Padmé says, still deep in her politician’s mindset. There’s no room for awkwardness or coldness between them, not with the mission and implications it carries.

“We have to learn what kind of people are ruling this planet,” Obi Wan says quietly, deep in thoughts. He thinks about sneaking out sometime in the night to get some kind of information, but he doesn’t want to leave Padmé alone.

Padmé nods and stands, starting to wander around the room. “But we must remember that the most important thing is getting them to join the Republic,” Padmé says, standing in front of the window and looking outside. The windows are wide and spacious - beautiful, no doubt, but also making anyone inside the quarters an easy target. Obi Wan goes to stand next to her, feeling the anxieties and worries she keeps unknowingly broadcasting. 

He looks on the outside and admires the gardens visible even from such heights. But the gardens end after a few yards and after them is worrying emptiness; a few ruins Obi Wan noticed before, like from some kind of temples or buildings. He knows that on the other side is the city center, full of people and guards; but sometimes the outer regions of cities say everything about it that needs to be said.

“I think first we must gather information on their position towards the Republic,” Obi Wan says and starts stroking his beard. He feels Padmé’s warmth near his side and after... well, everything, some small part of him still feels glad for some kind of human presence near him. “For centuries they declined the offer to join, only keeping necessary trade. It’s curious they consider it, now.”

“There’s a Galaxy-spread war going on,” Padmé says. “No planet can truly remain neutral, not with the way Separatists move their campaign.”

“I guess not,” Obi Wan sighs; he tries not to think about the Mandalore. He forgot how tiring these kind of missions were after endless months of fighting and leading an army. War has made him somewhat uncivilized, he realizes. He would much prefer sitting in the trenches with his men right now— or, ideally, meditate in the Temple’s gardens, surrounded by the younglings’ laughter and all-present love.

They stand in silence for a few seconds, both lost in their thoughts, before Padmé, hesitantly, touches his elbow, and says, “Obi Wan—”.

Obi Wan gently moves away a little and Padmé lowers her hand. “I’m not really in the mood for this talk, Padmé,” he says, still looking through the window, on the small three suns and the wastelands of ruins.

“I understand,” Padmé says quietly. “However— You must know. He’s sorry.”

Obi Wan snorts, humorless. “Yes, sorry for making me distance myself away from him. Not sorry for anything else.”

Padmé doesn’t say anything for a while and Obi Wan considers leaving her for some quiet in his bedroom, but— Well, he has spent days doing that during their travel, and he can’t really leave her without any protection, no matter how skilled she is with a blaster.

“You didn’t see him then,” Padmé says, and Obi Wan finally looks at her— She looks heartbroken, hurt; no trace of Senator Amidala is longer visible. “Of course I think what he has done is unforgivable in—In terms of acts. But— It was his mother. How can I _not_ forgive him, when I saw how broken he was afterward— How it still eats him from the inside.”

“I realize,” Obi Wan starts, a little coldly, and Padmé flinches at his tone, “that matters of the Outer Rim doesn’t concern the Senate, so things like slavery or murdering a village of Natives doesn’t carry much of a weight to you,” his words are sharp and cruel, but not meant to hurt - he just states the facts. “However, for me— For _Jedi_ , you don’t know what kind of weight it carries, the— The mindless genocide; the lack of remorse, the need for revenge.” He swallows a few times. “It’s the act of deepest parts of the Dark, fueled by rage.”

“And yet you haven’t told the Council,” Padmé says, quietly; judgingly. “You— You keep talking how _I_ ignored it, how you consider me heartless— And yet you also haven’t said anything, to anyone. You don’t want him to be judged.” She levels him with a fiery look. “I know how you feel about him. And I feel the same. You have no right to judge me for my forgiveness.” She breathes through her nose, and says, her voice quivering a little, “I saw her body, Obi Wan—Anakin’s mother. The way she looked— This was pure evil, what they have done to her.”

Obi Wan blinks a few times, looking at her, and then turns his head away. “He just has to— Feel sorry for it. There’s no forgiveness without atonement. You keep treating him like a victim in this. He’s not. What he has done is also pure evil.”

“Just talk to him,” Padmé pleads. “He— You can’t ignore him forever. Make him _understand_.”

“You didn’t make him understand for more than two years, and you’re his wife,” Obi Wan says, his throat hurting.

“We’re not the same,” Padmé says, her posture straight, and tone once again level. Her cheeks are a little flushed, be it from anger, shame, or just pure emotions. “You can make him understand it. You— You were his _master_. He holds you in the highest value.”

“I’m not ready to talk to him, not yet,” he says, trying to make her understand. He knows that she loves him and it has made her a little blind. She only sees good things in Anakin— and there’s so _many_ of them, the pure lightness of Anakin making his heart ache just by looking at him, and he _understands_ her. But she cannot pretend that there’s only good, not forever. 

She clears her throat and moves away from him. “You don’t have to do it now,” she says quietly. “But you have to reach out to him— It will only eat him up until we won't know what's left behind.” She avoids his eyes, and says, finally, “I’m going to my chambers. Please consider what I’ve said.”

She goes away, quietly, and Obi Wan’s left alone in the room, the silence almost eerie. He wonders absentmindedly where Moteé has gone; if she has heard anything. He once again turns to look through the window, his heart beating a steady rhythm of _forgive forgive forgive_ — He misses Anakin, misses his closeness, and his smile, and the way he melts under his touch, his eyes shining and so blue. They have been together only twice, this closeness still so new and fresh, hardly days old; but Obi Wan finds that he misses it more than he has thought he would, more than he has ever longed for anyone’s presence. He desperately wants to look into Anakin’s eyes, to see remorse in them; to hear him beg for forgiveness in his sweet voice, to hear that he regrets it and _knows_ why it was bad. That while the Natives deserved punishment for their act, murder— _genocide_ , is never the answer, not for a human, and especially not for a Jedi— even a Jedi as skewed by their love as him.

He sighs and closes his eyes, headache slowly but surely building. 

It’s only the _first_ day on this planet.

  
  
  
  
  


They are fetched for the dinner, Moteé staying in the quarters after helping Padmé to get ready. She says that she doesn’t mind it, but it still sits wrong with Obi Wan, the way they keep treating her like a servant; not to mention the possible danger she might be in, alone in the rooms. She looks at him, a little amused, and says that she can protect herself; Obi Wan says that of course, he knows that, it’s just that—— but Padmé drags him away before he can stay for another half an hour and avoid the meeting. She throws for Moteé to have fun, and Moteé sends her double thumbs up; a surprisingly dorky gesture.

His somewhat good humor vanishes during the meeting, though. There is a weird atmosphere in the room— the person sitting higher than anyone sends such waves through the Force that Obi Wan wants to immediately go and take a shower.

“The Great One, we present you the Jedi Master and the Senator,” a servant announces as they enter, their voice emotionless, and The Great One raises their head, their eyes blue where other Palvonti had green ones. 

“Welcome, my guests,” they say, their voice melodic and high. They have long earrings that reach their chest, neck full of heavy-looking jewelry, and the outfit looks monarch-worthy, with flowy fabric and robes. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Padmé and Obi Wan both bow their head respectfully, the lightsaber on Obi Wan’s belt unexpectedly heavy. They are shown their seats, Padmé having her own pulled up by a servant, and as they sit, they notice that on the other side there is Wa’av and a Gossam Obi Wan’s not familiar with.

Padmé, however, draws a sharp breath when she sees the Gossam.

“Amita Fonti?” she says, incredulous, looking between Fonti and the Great One.

“The talks are to be had between Palvonta joining the Republic _or_ the Separatist,” the Great One says, and the tone of their voice makes Obi Wan’s blood boil a little. He sees that Padmé is starting to get angry, so he places a hand on her forearm to calm her down.

“There are no peaceful talks with the Separatists,” Padmé says curtly, unexpectedly un-political like.

The Great One raises their brow. “Is this how the Republic treats every outsider?”

Padmé bites her tongue, and Obi Wan smoothly says, “What we meant, is that it’s a great surprise to see a leader of the government we’re currently at war with, with no former knowledge that it would take place.”

The Great One only hums, their eyes almost drilling into Obi Wan, but he’s no youngling; he holds his head up high, the hand on Padmé’s arm hidden under the table, his face open and relaxed. 

The Gossam is strangely quiet, despite the scowl on her face; she keeps looking at Obi Wan with great distaste.

“Firstly, let’s eat,” The Great One says, and the servants begin to move almost feverishly in their haste to bring food. “Then we can talk.”

Oh, Obi Wan has a bad feeling about all of this.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“I cannot believe,” Padmé says as she furiously paces the room, “the sheer _nerve_ —”

“Padmé,” Obi Wan says tiredly from his seat on the couch, Moteé standing in front of the window with a frown on her face. The suns have set some time ago, and their room is lighted only by the scenes from holo playing silently in front of the couch and lights from outside. 

“They were talking about Republic _rescuing_ them— And yet they invite—” she continues, ignoring him, and Obi Wan sighs, suddenly very tired.

“We have weeks to discover the things this planet is hiding,” Obi Wan suggests her gently, stopping her tirade.

Padmé suddenly stops her pacing and turns to face Obi Wan. “Do you think it’s Separatists’ plot?” she asks, her voice serious and worried. “To lure us here and use as leverage?”

“I think,” he says, “that Palvonta is a strange planet indeed, and firstly we must understand what makes it tick before we make any decision.”

Moteé says, still not looking away from the window, “Good thing we took our spy clothes, right?”

Padmé only groans, hiding her face in her hands— Obi Wan understands her completely.

  
  
  
  
  
  


They spend the first two weeks on high alert, Obi Wan practically not leaving Padmé alone. It makes things awkward at first, with how there’s a lot of things left unsaid between them and tensions high, but they both move those problems aside for the bigger picture.

Strangely - nothing happens. They are invited for talks two times a day, where everything yet nothing is discussed, often taking hours upon hours, the Great One always looking at everyone from high up, the government talking with Padmé and two CIS representatives, occasionally asking Obi Wan questions; but mostly he sits there as silent protection, eyed distrustfully by almost everyone.

However, it is very helpful in one thing; Obi Wan notices that there is some conflict between certain parties. The people adamant about joining the Republic look differently; they are more colorful, have tattoos on their arms that look like traditional markings, and wear different jewelry than the rest. The mers keen on supporting the Separatist cause, citing many transgressions committed by the Republic - and Wa’av, the one who greeted them, is one of them, - look more similar to each other. Most importantly, they look a lot like the Great One.

Together they try to subtly cover some ground, but the guards standing almost everywhere watch their every move. They have not gone further than a few walks around the city (not very crowded for a capital), once taken sightseeing by a Palvonti tour-guide, keen on showing them every place of worship in the city, but reluctant to take them further into Palvonta. Obi Wan's also not very keen on wandering, as Padmé is an easy target this way, and who knows how many enemies could lurk around.

Moteé, free to roam around as a ghost since probably most of their hosts even forgot she was with them with the way they treat their servants, every evening relays them more and more of the gossip and the information she has gathered.

“It’s about faith,” she says finally one day, as they have their almost traditional meet-up in the evening with the halo playing in the background. Moteé sighs, her fingers kneading the robe on her lap as she sits on the couch. “The ruling party— The Great One and all of their—” she grimaces, “—subjects, they profess one faith, which basically assumes that the Great One is an incarnation of their god which is omnipotent and omniscient and that they have divine right to be the ruler of Palvonta.”

“Great,” Obi Wan sighs. “So we’re basically dealing with cultists.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Moteé says, still wincing. “But the others— the ones wanting to join the Republic, they have their own religion— or maybe religions? But they don’t believe in the Great One as their god, per se. And well, the Republic—”

“—The Republic’s one of the most important foundations is the freedom of religion,” Padmé says, heavily, as she leans on the headrest. “So basically, the ruling party and their leader— the leader of the planet— are not keen on joining the Republic.”

“Because then it would be illegal to oppress the minority,” Obi Wan finishes, the realization striking. “The ruins— I wonder if they were the places of worship for those people.”

“It’s a wonder they even allowed these talks and invited us here,” Padmé says, pulling a face, as she straightens, almost outraged. “Why— Why waste our time like that, when they most certainly will not join us.”

Moteé shrugs, her face clouded. “What are we going to do now?” she asks, rubbing her temples. Obi Wan feels sympathy for her— for all that he and Padmé were going through during the talks and being on high alert for any attempted attacks from their Separatist friends, she was the one sneaking around and getting information, probably risking her life.

“We can’t leave until they decide anything,” Padmé says, resigned. “If we leave on our own terms— well, it’s pretty obvious that the Republic is unworthy of any trust and respect, if they ignore potential allies, right?”

“At least don’t get attacked, Padmé,” Obi Wan says, his tone sarcastic. “I had two goals for this mission; to protect you and to assure that the Palvonta joins us. Don’t let me come back with empty hands.”

Padmé snorts, humorless, and Moteé, tired and resigned, says, “I will make some tea.”

Obi Wan walks to her and gently touches her shoulder, feeling her exhaustion in the Force. “Go to sleep, Moteé. You have done enough. We can take care of ourselves.”

Moteé looks at him and then st Padmé, who nods with a warm expression. She sighs quietly, and murmurs, “Okay. But don’t die.” She’s only half-joking.

Padmé sends her a double thumbs up and Moteé finally smiles, and with quiet, “Goodnight,” goes to her chambers.

“Do you want tea?” Obi Wan asks as he goes towards the kitchen, restless despite the hour. Padmé goes after him, similarly wired, and nods. She hops on the counter and watches him as he starts preparing two cups, her face hidden by the dark curls framing her face.

“You didn’t talk to Anakin,” she says as the water quietly boils, and Obi Wan tightens his lips. They avoided the topic during the last two weeks, Padmé just watching him from afar a little judgemental, Obi Wan settling the new information he had about her with what he already knew. The proximity they have spent all their time in made it a little easier to understand that Padmé wasn’t a heartless person, but a woman in love, forgiving without truly comprehending. He enjoys her company and with time he finds that the knowledge of her hiding Anakin’s crime doesn’t weight as heavily as it did at first.

“You know I haven’t,” he says. Every time Padmé brings out her holocomm, Obi Wan leaves the room despite the looks she keeps sending him. 

Sometimes, when he’s feeling especially weak, he sits on the floor near the door and listens to their soft voices as they talk to each other; Anakin’s throaty timbre and her warm laughs as he says something amusing. He doesn’t hear what they’re saying and maybe it’s for the better.

“He misses you,” she says softly as she watches him pour the water into the cups. “Two sugars, please.”

Obi Wan hums. “I know,” he says, a little disgusted— but it’s nothing to Anakin’s four sugars, sometimes even five when he’s feeling especially adventurous. “He has my comm,” he adds, gently sending the kettle away with the Force.

“He won’t call you first,” she sighs, and then jumps off the counter, taking one cup, despite Obi Wan being perfectly capable of carrying two. “And that was a terrible misuse of the Force, Master,” she teases lightly as they walk out of the kitchen toward the couch.

Obi Wan throws her a look and Padmé giggles a little, turning the volume up higher on the holo.

“Oh,” she says as she for the first time during the evening looks closely at the actors. “It’s that holodrama Anakin’s obsessed with.”

“Oh no,” Obi Wan says, filled with terrible memories of being forced to sit and watch episode after episode until all the names and relationships branded themselves into his brain. Ahsoka has a habit of barging randomly into Anakin’s quarters when they’re at the Temple during breaks, bored enough to bother her Master between lessons; but whenever she sees what they’re watching, with pained Obi Wan almost forced to sit next to Anakin, she quickly finds something much more urgent to do. “Change the channel.”

“No, no, no,” Padmé says as she drinks her tea and takes a cookie from the table, laying the remote far away from Obi Wan. “The last episode really left me hanging; I must know what happened.”

“You last watched it weeks ago,” Obi Wan says exasperated but doesn’t reach for the remote. “There probably were three divorces and five funerals already.”

“Don’t be such a buzzkill,” Padmé chastises him, deeply involved in the holo, as the man wails something on the screen. “Karbi left Gishal and I want to know what happened to them.”

Obi Wan lets out an exaggerated sigh, but he watches with her, slowly sipping his tea, and relaxes into the couch. He feels almost at home now; remembers how Anakin is always watching his shows transfixed, with Ahsoka and Obi Wan making fun of him, despite the way Ahsoka secretly roots for the main characters to finally confess their love to each other whenever she eventually sticks around. He looks sideways at Padmé, at her warm, glittering almond-shaped eyes, and the way she watches the holo with an adorable frown between her brows as Jahezav screams at Karbi on the screen.

The camera cuts to show Nesdra alone on a cliff, his robes dramatically fluttering on the wind, as he screams with a frown at the sky. Obi Wan snorts, glad not to be drinking tea at the time, and says, “He always reminds me so much of Anakin. He gets very furious whenever I point it out to him.” He has figured long ago that if he’s forced by his former Padawan to watch this ridiculous thing, he will get as much amusement as he can out of it.

Padmé looks at him, looks at the was Nesdra runs to Gishal, almost colliding into him after screaming for a minute at the wind, and says, full of wonder, “Oh my gods. You’re absolutely right.”

Obi Wan grins as he imagines Anakin’s face, outraged at the way they’re making fun of him, and finds out that Padmé is also smiling widely, her eyes wrinkled adorably. Obi Wan feels some warmth at that, the way her good humor shines so brightly in the Force and embraces him.

“You know what makes him the angriest, though,” she begins, but the holo is showing Nesdra kissing Gishal, and she says, shocked, “Oh. I wasn’t expecting that.”

Obi Wan watches, transfixed, as the poor actors try to make the kiss somewhat believable; it’s almost like watching a ship crashing when you can’t turn away from the horrors of the tragedy. “That’s incredible,” he says, as Gishal lets out a loud moan, his wig getting a little skewed from Nesdra’s hands.

They watch in silence the scene until it cuts to another, showing teared up Karbi watching them from the window. Padmé clears her throat and then says, her voice quivering from laughter, “Well. As I was saying— I’m deeply moved by the relationship Karbi and Ashari have, and I think they would be so good together; but whenever I say this to Anakin, he gets so red in the face and starts storming around, talking what a terrible idea it is, with the way Ashari has betrayed Karbi's trust and that they’re enemies now.”

Obi Wan actually knows the exact shade of furious red Anakin gets when he’s giving that rant. “He’s always huffing so hilariously; it’s like he has never heard such an outrageous idea before,” Obi Wan says, smiling so wide perhaps for the first time in weeks. 

Padmé looks at him with wide eyes. “Obi Wan— Do you mean that you also think they would be great together?” She sounds incredulous, like she can’t believe her luck.

Obi Wan’s voice begins to shake with his suppressed laughter, now. “Anakin once has stopped talking to me for three days because I wouldn’t quit saying how nice they would look together.”

Padmé finally laughs, almost snorting her cookie through her nose, and they both start laughing ridiculously, like children, each getting the other to laugh more until they forget what they’re laughing about, and Padmé starts groaning that her stomach aches.

The episode ends, and Obi Wan’s actually pretty sad to see it ending, as much as his sides hurt. As they calm down, Padmé, still so flushed from their laughing fit, with tears at the corners of her eyes, stretches and shakes her head, her neck cracking a little.

“Oh, ow,” she murmurs, combing her curls with her fingers. She gathers it to make a ponytail with a band she has on her wrist, and Obi Wan’s startled to realize that they’re genuine friends now; friends that sit in the middle of the night and laugh together, friends that allow themselves to look not perfectly in front of each other all the time.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” he asks gently, and Padmé shakes her head, finally changing the channel as it starts playing random commercials with the most useless stuff.

“I wonder what we’re going to do now,” she says, her tone getting a little serious again. “Do you think we could get some intel on Separatists? It would be nice to come back with _something_.”

“I think it’s not a bad idea, actually,” he says. “The leader mentioned a ball in a few days— I think everyone will be distracted enough that we could find something even Moteé couldn’t get her hands on.”

“She mentioned that there’s a floor they probably keep some data on,” she muses, blinking a sleepily. “You could probably distract them with your magic wavy hand thing,” she murmurs.

“Yes,” Obi Wan says, amused. “I will distract them with my magic wavy hand. And you will go to sleep soon.”

“Or with your charm,” she continues, and then she makes some weird expression, trying to look solemn and serious, despite her heavy lids. “‘He _llo_ _there_ , darling, what a nice dress you have, you look absolutely stunning’,” as she starts to croon the words, he realizes that she’s imitating him and his lips twitch a little. She continues, in her a normal tone and accent, “And you will wave to signal that it’s clear, the woman greatly distracted by your smile, and I will sneak in, steal the information that will probably lead us to the location of every important leader— And we’ll learn who this whole Sith Lord, or whatever, is—”.

“And I see that someone has been sharing information that he shouldn’t have,” Obi Wan says, but he’s too amused and tired to be angry, or even annoyed. “Padmé. Let’s go to sleep.”

She blinks a few times and realizes that she’s almost sprawled on the couch. “Yeah,” she says. “That’s a good idea.”

They shuffle around, leaving the cups on the table and change in the fresher, until they both go to Padmé’s chamber. During the second night, she told him, a little hesitatingly, that she didn’t feel good about sleeping all alone, even though his room was right next to hers. He actually agreed with her; he didn’t get any sleep, immersed in a state where he could feel any presence or hear any sound out of place, stressed about the distance he would have to cover to get to her if anything arose. The planet has set both of them on edge.

With the pillows, blankets, and most importantly, the softest rug he has ever felt, sleeping on the floor near her bed is almost the same as sleeping in a real bed. He has certainly laid on much worse things during battles.

“Good night,” he says softly as they enter the bedroom, Padmé in her nightgown, with pearls glittering on the hem of it and a long necklace with some kind of stone. Obi Wan’s still a little amazed at how she even goes to sleep in a Queen-worthy attire.

She kisses him on his temple, absentmindedly, and says, “Good night, Obi Wan.” She gets into her bed and buries herself in the covers, probably already asleep.

He sighs, the feel of her soft lips a ghost touch on his temple, warming him from the inside, and lays down on his makeshift bed. The bedroom is dark, the heavy curtains covering the spacious window that could give some light.

As he goes to his light sleep, he finds out that he’s still smiling. 

  
  
  


After Moteé’s discovery, Obi Wan notices a lot of things that weren’t as obvious at first; the way nobody looks the Great One in the eyes, their head bowed, even the mers—but if they look at them, their expressionless eyes look almost worshipful; how people in the square have a habit of publicly praying two times a day, their bodies facing the Palace as their bow on their knees; how almost everything far from the Palace is bare of nature because clearly, the gifts of the world belong only to the Great One.

He senses that Padmé gets even more uncomfortable in their presence, the fact of their worship and the mindless following clearly a disgust to her as a former ruler of her planet. But she doesn’t show it in any way, respectful as always; she spends more time studying the mers that favor the Republic, clearly trying to understand how the oppressed minority even got to have a voice in the government. 

Amita Fonti is the main Separatist representative, but there are some other Separatists around and Obi Wan tries to keep an eye on everyone, his senses stretched to the limits to discover any attempt on Padmé’s life. But, surprisingly, no one has tried to assassinate her— certainly a first in many months.

“We realize that the conflict between the parties here is too great to be ended during one evening,” the Great One says during one of the meetings, as Padmé ends her speech that almost leaves her breathless— Obi Wan notices that many of the mers, even some of the Great One worshippers, look amazed by her. “But please allow us to invite you to the ball; perhaps it would be a great way to talk to your enemies without ever-present hostility.”

“The Republic has tried many times to hold peaceful talks with the Confederacy,” Padmé says coldly, her head held up high, with the complicated hairstyle and ornate headpiece making her look taller and bigger. “It is not a question of any misunderstandings,” she says, looking straight at Fonti, her eyes sharp. She turns to the Great One, staring straight into their blue, endless eyes. “But we, as the representatives of the Republic, are grateful for your invitation, the Great One, and gladly will join your party.”

“Excellent,” the Great One drawls, almost amused by Padmé’s impertinence as she stares down at them, despite the distance between them and the height the Great One has on their throne. “Senator Fonti?”

The Gossam stares at Padmé, and then looks down at the table, bowing her head before the leader. “Representatives of the Confederacy thank you for your invitation, the Great One— we will most certainly join the ball as a way to show our peaceful intentions.”

  
  
  
  


“You can’t wear that,” Padmé says to him the next day as they get ready for the ball, looking at Obi Wan’s robes with distaste from the mirror. “You— You’re not serious.”

Obi Wan raises his brow. “I most certainly am. I’m a Jedi, Padmé,” he says, amused, in case she forgot. Moteé stands behind her, hairpins in her mouth. She takes two of them out, securing Padmé’s curls high on her head, and she turns to look at Obi Wan, clicking her tongue. “Yeah, no.”

Padmé grins at Moteé in the mirror, her deep-red lips curving and drawing attention to them. “See? It’s two to one.”

“I didn’t take any fancy suits, Padmé,” he says, full of suffering, quite comfortable in his robes, thank you very much. “I have nothing else to wear.”

Padmé frowns and Moteé flicks her softly on the forehead, murmuring, “You will crease the foundation, stop.” 

“Anakin always wears those nice leather tabards; you don’t have anything similar?”

Obi Wan looks sideways at Moteé, but she’s unaffected— he wouldn’t be surprised if she knew about Padmé and Anakin, with their subtlety. “As if I would wear _leather_ ,” he says, his lips curling with distaste.

“You would look good in it, though,” Moteé says, her fingers efficiently braiding Padmé’s curls. Padmé nods, agreeing with her.

“I’m a Jedi and I will look like a Jedi,” he says, his tone final— he doesn’t say that he won’t be Jedi for much longer, now, but the look Padmé throws him makes it obvious that she has figured it out. 

“What if someone finds us and your getup will make it extremely obvious who we are?” Padmé asks, holding two earrings to her ears. She hums a little. “Which one?”

“The gold ones. They will fit your headpiece,” Obi Wan says, his arms crossed in front of him. She’s really going for the religious image, with a halo-like headpiece of the golden crown and gold spots around her eyes.

“At least wear something darker,” Moteé suggests. “It won’t clash with Padmé that way and you will be harder to spot.”

Obi Wan, in fact, has dark robes in his baggage— he’s doesn't quite know how they got there, as he’s pretty sure he has never in his life commissioned dark robes. Knowing Anakin, he ordered some for him and threw it into Obi Wan’s things sometime in the past and they got mixed with his usual get-ups.

He goes to change, and as he looks into the mirror, he thinks that he looks ridiculous; the dark brown tunics clash with his fair complexion, the tabard black, although, thank the Force, not leather. The robes are a little stiff and smell of new fabric, but they’re surprisingly well-fitting. He likes the tall, stiff collar the tunic has, giving him some sense of privacy.

“Well?” he asks the ladies as he gets out, Moteé helping Padmé with the back of her dress. Moteé looks at him and whistles loudly, making Obi Wan roll his eyes; Padmé turns around, and he’s a little shocked by how beautiful she looks. He, of course, knows that she’s an extraordinary woman; he has seen her in many attires, mainly those that had a goal of impressing and overwhelming her opponents.

But the way her hair is pinned up high, with small, styled curls framing her face full of makeup that makes her eyes look darker and more hooded, the eyeliner emphasizing the fold on her eye; the way her shoulders and neck look, uncovered and contrasting with the deep color of the dress; the way her bony wrists are connected to the train of the dress, making her look ethereal; the way she looks more like a goddess to be cherished than the Great One has ever had during their stay.

Well.

“I guess it will do,” she sighs as she sees him, as if asking herself why was she burdened with such unstylish men in her life.

Obi Wan hides his smile.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The first few hours are spent on—yet again—useless talks, this time less focused on political alliances, and more on bragging about the fortune and assets of the people near the table. Padmé, Obi Wan, and Moteé are on the one end, while the Separatist party is situated on another. The Great One, as always, takes the center.

But after some time, filled with food, fake laughs, long discussions about nothing, and useless dancing—Obi Wan amuses himself for some time with charming a few locals, ignoring Padmé’s look on his back—the company is crowded and distracted enough, that they slip out. Moteé has disappeared a while ago, holding much less attention than the Senator and a Jedi for the curious guests from all over the planet.

“She sent me the location on where we should look,” Padmé murmurs to him, as she takes his arm, and they slowly start walking, their voices bubbly. She even giggles from time to time, seemingly a little tipsy, blinking owlishly at anyone noticing them.

“Great,” he says, and they start roaming the Palace, the music and voices getting quieter and quieter. They pass some people; a few Rodians, some Ithorians, but mostly humans. When he feels some presence nearing them, he usually steers her another way, and she goes without hesitation, trusting him completely. Finally, they enter the hall that Moteé said held the library with data she wasn’t able to obtain.

There is a guard in front of it.

“Oh, hello there,” Obi Wan says cheerily, and he feels Padmé’s amusement flare in the Force. He subtly reaches out and caresses the guard’s mind with a whisper. “We were just looking around. You don’t mind us taking a look, right?”

The guard’s mind is weak— Obi Wan wonders if some of the Great One’s power isn’t thanks to some sort of the mind play, with the way many Palvanti bend like warm butter under his influence. 

They slowly but surely pass the guard and they don’t move in any way to stop them. “You probably have much more pressing matters with the ball downstairs than protecting some useless room, don’t you?” Obi Wan says, pouring sympathy into his voice. “Why don’t you tend to it?”

“Yes,” the guard murmurs. “You’re right.” And they walk away, their steps the only sound in the hall.

“Well, that’s creepy,” Padmé says as they enter the room, looking like any other there - the whole Palace looks so bare, ordinary, and plain. But the room, big as it is, has rows upon rows of computer, not unless the library in the Temple, with the main one in the center. Padmé looks at him sideways as she surely walks towards it, despite the heels she’s wearing. “You have never done that to me, have you?” she says this like a joke, but her tone is serious.

Obi Wan hums as he extracts a device made for holding any data it finds, thinking how much easier it would be with an astromech. “You’re way too strong and unyielding for any sort of mind manipulation, Padmé, even light suggestions. And I would never do that to a friend.”

She looks relieved; even satisfied and proud of herself. Obi Wan smiles a little at that, and turns to the computer, murmuring, “Well, let’s see what you have.”

They spend the minutes in silence, Padmé wandering around and searching for anything that won’t be in data, and Obi Wan trying his hardest to get around any securities: but stars, how he wishes Anakin was here. She reads a datapad in silence, before saying, “They have information connected to the Trade Federation,” her voice a little weak.

“What?” he asks, tearing his eyes off the computer and looks at her. She looks a little pale.

“The Trade Federation. They have— Some files on them. And on the Republic. And even Hutts— I don’t know, but there’s almost everything, like they wrote down all they could get on everyone—”

“Maybe we can trace something from it to the Confederation,” he says, something bubbling in his chest, as the computer beeps, finishing the transfer of every data it holds.

She looks at him, a little hopeful, and then Obi Wan senses an upcoming presence, his heart stopping. “Quick,” he hisses, detaching his pen, and powering off the computer with a wave of his hand. She grabs his stretched out arm and they jog towards the door, but Obi Wan senses that they will not get out on time, and there's no way to hide.

Padmé looks at him and then at the door, the understanding dawning on her face. Suddenly she stops, almost next to the door, and presses her back against the wall, her hands gripping his neck under the collar. He notices that her fingers are unusually cold as she grabs him closer to her and he goes willingly, though not understanding.

“Kiss me,” she hisses, and before he has a chance to even blink, she lays one hand on the back of his head and almost forcefully brings his head down to her, to get on her level.

Her lips are a little weird to touch at first, with the thick layer of dry lipstick she has, but she opens them in no time, sticking her tongue into his mouth. Obi Wan blinks a little in shock, something in his stomach tightening. His hands instinctively go to her waist, but she is completely in control, orchestrating every move, and she moves him around as she wants to.

She moans loudly as the door opens, and Obi Wan finally connects the dots. He leans down more, to crowd her closer to the wall, their bodies almost completely connected. Her moves are a little obnoxious— she’s clearly, at least to him, playing it up, writhing a little in his arms and making loud, wet noises with her mouth, as they separate and kiss once again, the way her tongue is deep in his mouth obvious from afar.

But—it’s not bad.

Someone says, stunned, “What are you doing here?”

Obi Wan moves his lips lower, dragging them on her cheek and chin until he lays them on her neck; he can feel how fast her heart is beating and he rests his open mouth on her pulse and hides his face. He makes moves as if he is kissing her neck in fervor, but he tries not to touch her too much, despite it all.

Padmé giggles highly and small gasps tears out of her. “Oh, sorry,” she says, bashful, both of her hands going to Obi Wan’s hair. “We just— You know, ah— Wanted some time alone.”

“You can't be here,” the person says, but they sound embarrassed. Obi Wan tries to play it up, and grabs Padmé’s knee, begging for her not to kick him. He moves it a little higher, the move suggestive even from the distance, and reaches out in the Force, blasting the intruder with embarrassment and the need to run away. He drags his hand through her thigh, the skin soft to touch, and resists the urge to clench his fingers on it.

Padmé says, a little breathless, “Oh, we’re so sorry, but— He, he gets _so_ _rowdy_ after a few drinks,” and she giggles again, her leg uncovered from the fabric as she rises it to wrap it around Obi Wan’s hips. “I couldn’t stop him.”

They’re certainly playing it up.

“Well,” the person coughs, blaring their embarrassment so loudly in the Force that Obi Wan almost grimaces in the haven of Padmé’s juncture between neck and shoulder, so bare and free to touch. “You have to get out of here. You— You certainly have the bedrooms you can go to.”

“Yes, of course,” Padmé says, and then lets out a small moan. Obi Wan knows it’s fake— he’s not even doing anything, just moving his head slowly back and forth on her neck, lips lightly pressed, and holding her knee— and yet. Something stirs in him, and he thinks, _oh, Force, no_.

“I will wait outside,” the person says and promptly goes out, closing the door. They wait a few seconds before Obi Wan makes sure that they won’t enter again, and he lets go of her leg and leans back.

They look at each other for a while, silently. Padmé’s lipstick is only a little smudged, and Obi Wan smacks his lips a little, wet from saliva, still tasting her and her lipstick. Her dress is wrinkled on her hips and Obi Wan doesn’t want to know how his hair must look, with the way she has dragged her hands up and down through it.

She clears her throat. Obi Wan’s eyes are drawn to her neck, and with some embarrassment he notices that there _are_ some marks on it, despite him not doing anything, from the burn of his beard. He has the urge to lean and properly mark her up; to suck on her neck and feel the way she writhes in his arms, not faking it, her breath ragged. He imagines her standing next to Anakin, both of them smiling brightly, small peaks of marks visible from their clothes; _his_ marks, both of them so beautifully adorned with the things he has left on them—

_Oh, Sithfuck._

“We have to look messier,” Padmé finally says, her eyes dark, and starts to rub her lipstick a little with the finger, but Obi Wan catches her hand.

“It will be obvious with the lipstick on your fingers,” he says, and she looks up to him— and how has he never noticed how much smaller she is than him? He shakes his head a little, loosening up his tunics.

“I have an idea,” Padmé says, her tone peculiar, and then she leans in again, Obi Wan’s breath stopping for a short moment. She starts kissing, a little forcefully, his cheek and the corner of his mouth, more smushing her lips on his face than kissing, really; and Obi Wan’s hit with a strong urge to just turn his head a little and let her kiss him properly—

But she’s just trying to smear her lipstick on him. She leans back, and looks satisfied with the result, something strange sparking in her eyes. She looks at him under her lashes and Obi Wan’s sure, for a second, that she feels the same as him - this wave of desire, so strong, that his head feels a little clouded.

He tightens his lips. “Here, let me,” he says, and reaches out to gently mess her hair a little more, careful around the headpiece glittering even in the shadows, to complete the look. Her locks are smooth between his fingers, like liquid satin.

There is sharp knocking on the door, and Padmé sighs, pushing a little at his shoulders to make him back off. He didn’t even notice that he was still crowding her, and feels ashamed.

“Let’s go, then,” she says, and takes his hand. She squeezes it a little, before plastering a widdy grin on her face, blinking lazily. She walks to the door, Obi Wan slowly dragging himself behind her, making his moves slow and uncoordinated.

They walk out of the library, and Padmé giggles nervously, saying, “Oh, we definitely should forget all about this unfortunate incident, should we not?” 

There are three people standing in the hall, looking shocked by their state; they stare at Padmé’s hair and dress, and her glossy eyes, at the clear smears of red lipstick on Obi Wan’s face. Obi Wan lets some of the want he feels bleed into his posture, leaning closer to Padmé and throwing a lazy arm around her waist, turning his face to hide in her hair.

“Senator—” one of the two Palvonti starts, but the Sy Myrthian that is with them shush them.

“Let them go,” she says, her voice clipped and sharp. “You see the state they’re in,” she adds, disgusted, looking at the flush in Padmé’s cheeks and the way Obi Wan’s holding her.

“Yes, we better go,” Padmé says, biting her lips. “See you around.”

The Separatist looks at her, and turns around without a word; one of the Palvonti stare at them, something glimmering in their eyes, before they say, voices gruff, “Please leave this area.”

They walk to their quarters almost all the way like this; Obi Wan holding her, breathing in her sweet perfumes and feeling soft skin yielding beneath his hands, Padmé pretending to be inebriated. They avoid the most of the people, and the ones they pass don’t look twice at them; Obi Wan senses two couples showing the whole world their affection to each other in the crooks of the hallways they pass, so they clearly aren’t the only ones.

As the door closes after them, Obi Wan immediately lets Padmé go and takes a step back; she looks flushed, blinking a little, her body pliant. Obi Wan feels the psychical need to reach out to her; to hold her face and kiss her, honestly this time, biting her lips until they were the same color as the lipstick; to take off the dress that has been driving him mad for almost the whole evening. To take out the pins from her hair and that ridiculous headpiece, just to let her curls loose.

He clenches his hand.

“Obi Wan—” she starts, her voice full of— _something_ , and she takes a step closer, her body inviting. He doesn’t know what to do with the way his heart still hurts by their betrayal, with the way he longs for Anakin so much that he’s starting to actually ache. He wants her, but he also doesn’t know if he’s _allowed_ to want her, if this thing—

They actually haven’t discussed anything, during that dinner.

“Do you want to go to the fresher first?” he asks but doesn’t move back. She looks at him, her eyes hooded, and then sighs.

“Yes,” she says softly. “I will go first.”

  
  


(As he goes to the kitchen for something to drink, he notices that Moteé is sitting on the counter, eating the cookies they have from Coruscant, already in her sleepwear.

She looks amused as she sees him.

“Fun night?” she asks playfully, licking the crumbs from her finger.

Obi Wan grunts a little, honestly done with this whole mission. “We have found something, but I think we will discuss it tomorrow.”

Moteé makes a quiet ‘mhm’ noise, but as he starts to leave the kitchen with his juice, she says, “You have something on your face, you know.” She’s clearly suppressing her laughter.

Obi Wan is a very dignified person, but he almost flips her off right there and then.)

  
  


That night, as they lay together in one room, Padmé on the bed, and Obi Wan next to it, on the soft floor, he knows that neither of them actually sleeps. The Force is tense around them, strung high, and Obi Wan feels so tired - but he cannot sleep, no matter how much he quiets his mind and tries to reach out with the Force for some peace.

He turns on his side and watches the silhouette of Padmé under the covers, her back to him. 

They’re both quiet.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. part ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all of your lovely comments and kudos!! :') i've passed some of my worst exams, so as a way to celebrate, i'm publishing the second part today!!
> 
> as i said, i'm giving a big fuck you to canon, so the fives arc here happens earlier than the wrong jedi arc, meaning that ahsoka's still there.
> 
> also - this work is tagged for it, but this part has a more explicit sex scene than the last chapter or _heathen_ , so if it's not your thing, just scroll to the next gap/to "Anakin only mumbles something" - it ends there.
> 
> hope you enjoy!

  
  


Anakin’s day starts out great, then it gets even greater; and then it all goes to shit.

He goes to his quarters for the night, the atmosphere in Padmé’s apartment too oppressive and choking. He secretly longs for some company; for Obi Wan to come and be close to him, even as that’s impossible; for Ahsoka to visit, almost losing balance as she unceremoniously crashes through his doors, already talking faster than he can understand; for Padmé to kiss him sweetly, her touch comforting, and tease him quietly until everything is right again.

But no one comes.

Anakin spends the whole night turning over and over, his mind a hurricane of thoughts that cannot even allow him to close his eyes. He goes through anger, to grief, to horror, to fury, to sadness, to—

He cannot forget the look on Obi Wan’s face; the disgust and horror clear as day, his eyes unbelieving. It makes something ugly coil in him, hissing and spitting hurting words at everyone— at Obi Wan and the way he has tossed Anakin aside, at Anakin for being so weak and pathetic, at Padmé for not taking his side, silent after Obi Wan’s exit.

But somewhere deep in his mind, he knows that his Master is right. That the act he has committed is unforgivable, that he should just go to the Council and kneel before them, confessing everything, waiting for the strike of a lightsaber. He’s not the Chosen One; he’s a monster, with blood on his hands and no remorse.

_Make him pay for hurting you_ , something deep, deep in his soul croons, the coldness a relief after the onslaught of feverish thoughts. _Make him pay for not_ choosing _you_ — _He has tossed you aside like_ **garbage** , _make both of them_ **_pay_** _, they don't deserve your love_ —

Anakin presses his fits into his eyelids, begging for the thoughts to stop. He tries reaching out to Obi Wan— he knows he’s in the Temple— he wants to go to him and kneel, for him to touch Anakin gently like he always does, his touch and words forgiving, finally making the noise in Anakin’s head quiet down as he’s graced with the light his Master always bestows upon him—

Obi Wan’s so closed off that Anakin almost runs into a wall as he reaches out to him. He recoils, hurt, and the wound starts bleeding even more so.

He thinks of the Tusken Raiders, something that he’s been shoving aside for years now; remembers the screams of terror and the joy he felt at turning these _creatures_ into nothing, just as they turned his mom - the only person worth something in this godforsaken dustball - into nothing. He remembers sobbing children and mothers crying out something in their language as Anakin’s blade cut their voice in half. He remembers thinking, _now you know what I feel_ , as he stared into the children's eyes after striking their mothers down.

There were thirteen people in total— Anakin hasn’t even given them a proper burial.

He reaches deep into himself, thinks _do I regret it? Do I regret it? Do I regret it? Do I regret it? Do I regret it? Do I——_

He thinks about the horror he felt as he realized what he has done; the way the coldness embraced him, purring slowly inside him, making him relax, relieving him of any feeling. The way thoughts of his mom’s body made him block out anything that even looked like guilt.

He desperately claws at the Force, the floodgates now open; he screams into it, searching for answers, for oblivion, for something to grasp.

_Beloved child_ , the Force murmurs, around him, inside him, at the reach of his fingertips and in his mind, oppressive, omnipotent, omniscient, simultaneously in the past, present, and the future; ubiquitous. _Look. Look at what you have done._

Anakin finally looks.

  
  
  
  


“You’re in a _wonderful_ mood today,” Ahsoka says to him, flicking his nose. She cartwheels away, to escape before he can grab her. Showoff. 

Anakin opens his eye, glaring at her. “We’re supposed to be meditating, Snips.”

“Ehh,” Ahsoka says, twirling her lightsabers she quickly took off her belt. “I’m pretty balanced, Master. It’s you who’s all—” she shakes her hands, “—you know.”

Anakin gently reaches out in the Force to her and she’s right; she’s in a good mood, away from the battlefield for a few days, happy from meeting with her friends in the Temple and getting a pat on her montrals from Master Koon.

He sighs and lays down on the mats, his head pounding. 

“So what made you such a ray of sunshine today, hm?” Ahsoka asks, curious despite herself. For all of her groaning about his dramatics, she sure likes to stick her nose in all of his problems.

“None of your business,” he says and raises a brow at her. “Or do you want to run some laps?”

“You’re the worst, Master,” Ahsoka groans exaggeratedly, but she lays off.

She probably knows what’s wrong and just wants him to admit it; he wasn’t very subtle with how afflicted he was at hearing the news of Obi Wan getting send on a mission with Padmé.

He talks with Padmé every few days, but it’s not enough; it’s never enough, and especially not now, not with the things that are practically spilling from his mouth, with the way he wants to touch Obi Wan and tell him that he understands, that he’s sorry, that he hasn’t slept for two weeks now, plagued with visions of dying Natives and his own face, grimaced in fury, unrecognizable. He dreams of crying children; of shaking, tiny voices, screaming out in Basic why is he hurting them, Master Skywalker, _please_ ; of drowning in blood, his eyes wide open, choking on it and feeling the way it fills every one of his cells, sticking to him, making him a completely different creature.

_Look_ , the Force has said, the strength of the order almost making his brain melt; and he has looked, is looking constantly; sees it everywhere.

He wants to talk to him, face to face— needs it so desperately that he feels like he will crawl out of his skin with the sheer want.

Padmé, as much as he loves her, won’t understand— she tries, but she knows that there are things that she will never get, like their connection to the Force.

“Let me talk to him,” he says once, desperately, during a bad day, and he sees the grief on Padmé’s face. “Please, Padmé—”

“He doesn’t want to, right now,” she says sorrowfully, but adds, as his face crumbles, “Oh, Ani— He will talk to you— He loves you, please believe me—”

But there are also better days when he can sit and hear her talk animatedly about her mission and how she and Obi Wan work together to untangle the mess they have found themselves in. He tries not to feel jealous, at the way they are getting along so well— he would be ecstatic, normally— But there’s something simmering under his skin, as he sees Padmé’s smile as she talks about Obi Wan; Obi Wan, who, the last time Anakin saw him, almost threw up on him and went out of the apartment without looking at him even once.

He sighs, and tugs lightly at Ahsoka’s lek, getting up. “Come on, Snips. We’ll be shipping out tomorrow; don’t you have some stuff to do?”

She flexes her arm. “Please, me? I was born ready to fight those clankers. I can go anytime.”

He nearly calls her out on her bullshit and asks her to arm wrestle; but, despite what Obi Wan says, he’s a serious and respected Master, and he cannot arm wrestle every time his Padawan gets too cocky. (Also, and he won’t admit it even on his deathbed, Ahsoka almost beat him the last time— and he doesn’t know if he’s proud or ashamed.)

  
  


The day before they depart to Ringo Vinda, Anakin’s comm pings with an official request from the Chancellor to come and meet him. Anakin’s not really in a mood for a meeting; the Chancellor is his friend and Anakin values him as a mentor, but Palpatine always is so curious about his well-being, and, well, Anakin can’t exactly tell him what’s bothering him, now. Even Anakin knows what are the lines on what he can tell some people. 

The guards in front of Palpatine’s office allow him to enter without looking; even now, Anakin feels some kind of satisfaction that he’s so appreciated by the Chancellor that he can visit him anytime and no one disagrees.

“Anakin, my boy,” the Chancellor greets him, turning from the window and gracing him with a smile. “How nice to see you.”

“Chancellor,” Anakin says, bowing his head respectfully. “Thank you for your invitation.”

Palpatine comes to him and lays a heavy hand on his shoulder, steering him towards the couches. “You must tell me everything that has happened to you; I’m afraid I was so busy that I could not find time for any entertainment.”

Anakin lets himself be steered, feeling a little uncomfortable, but squashing it deeply. As they sit, Chancellor’s assistant brings them caff and backs out almost immediately.

Anakin’s sleep-deprived and is spending almost all of his free time deeply immersed in the Force, trying to understand all that tangled emotions of his (and if Obi Wan knew, he would be proud, because that most certainly is a meditation of some sort)— it’s hurtful and Anakin’s knuckles are bruised from the number of times he has hit anything that was available to hit. But he _tries_ , okay, he doesn’t want to lose him—or her, he doesn’t want to lose any of them— and if acknowledging the things he did— the _mistakes_ he has made (and oh, Anakin hates mistakes so much, almost tastes acid at the thought of a mistake—but he tries and listens and listens and listens—)

Well. The point is, Anakin is deeply attuned into Force now, his nerves alight every second with the sheer power of it flowing through him.

And the Force is behaving weirdly in this office— near his friend.

“Anakin?” Palpatine asks, worriedly, and Anakin musters a weak smile, reaching out for the caff.

“Sorry. It’s been a hard couple of days.”

“Yes, indeed.” Palpatine frowns, his hand still on Anakin’s shoulders. Anakin’s headache gets even worse with every minute and he has to try and stop any wincing. “You know you can tell me anything that troubles you, my dear boy.”

The caff tastes like ash in Anakin’s mouth, and he drinks it quickly, just for it to hit and make the headache go away for a while. “There’s nothing to tell,” Anakin says. “Just, you know. War trouble. And I’m a little worried about Ahsoka.”

Palpatine lets his hand fall and slowly rises, the thick robes flowing behind him as he starts pacing his office slowly. “Your apprentice, yes?” 

“She’s still so young,” he sighs, fiddling a little with the cup’s handle. “When I was her age I was sneaking through the Temple and trying to—” he quickly looks at the Chancellor and bites his tongue, “—get out and have some free time. And she’s a _Commander_ in the war.”

Palpatine winces sympathetically, the apology emitting from him all around in the Force, almost choking Anakin with the strength of it. “You know that if only I could—”

“I know that it’s not your fault, Chancellor, but the Senate’s,” Anakin says, tired. Palpatine nods, seemingly satisfied that Anakin holds no grudges towards him for the war—

—and suddenly, he remembers Padmé’s quiet voice, saying that the Chancellor blocks any anti-war bills, that he regularly is seen talking to the Senators known for voting for more clones; remembers Obi Wan’s wince as Anakin has once mentioned what Palpatine had told him, trusting his young friend and sharing his ideas with him; the way Obi Wan, after some relaxing drinks, sometimes starts ranting how the Council is almost always restricted by the Office—

—and he quickly shoves it away. He doesn’t want to think about them, now.

“I must say that my invitation was not selfless, my dear,” Palpatine says, oblivious to the way Anakin’s slowly collapsing in himself, the pulse of the Force almost too much, tasting blood in his mouth. Anakin almost shudders at the endearment, which always filled him with such pride; now he can only think about Obi Wan’s voice as he says it, drawling, warm; loving.

He turns to Anakin, and says, his voice careful, “The most astonishing news have reached me, concerning the mission on Palvonta.”

Anakin stands up quickly, his pulse quickening. “Have something happened to them? Is Padmé alright?” he asks, frantic.

Palpatine once again places a hand on his shoulder and Anakin relaxes a little under his touch. “Yes, you mustn’t worry about their safety; the news is more of a… private matter.”

“Private matter?” Anakin says with a frown. The pounding of his blood finally forces him to wander around the office and Palpatine sits heavily behind his desk. He laces his hands together, putting his chin on them.

“Did you know,” Palpatine begins, his voice smooth and careful, “that Senator Amidala and Master Kenobi have, uh, a somewhat... intimate relationship?”

“What?” Anakin asks quietly, astonished.

“I tell you this in confidence, knowing how dear they are to you,” Palpatine says, his voice sympathetic. “They were seen in a pretty much unambiguous situation, clearly wrapped up in each other— of course, it won’t be public knowledge, but I thought I had to let you know.”

Anakin can only gape at Palpatine, who sighs, his eyes truly sorry. “I apologize you had to hear this from me, not them; frankly, I’m a little disappointed how they never mentioned anything to you.”

“Yes,” Anakin says after a while, clearing his throat. “They— should’ve told me. I don’t know what to—”

“You would think that Master Kenobi would avoid such hypocrisy,” Palpatine muses, and Anakin blinks at that, still a little confused. Seeing Anakin’s look, Palpatine continues, “You always tell me how he scolds you for... un-Jedi like behavior. And yet, here we are, with him clearly having an affair with— with your friend, no less. Such behavior is truly disappointing,”

“Casual relationships are not forbidden,” Anakin says, not really understanding what’s Palpatine’s point with the pounding in his head and ears, his voice blank. Obi Wan and Padmé— They—? Alone—? “It’s the— attachment, unhealthy attachment, that’s forbidden.”

“Oh, Anakin,” Palpatine smiles, compassionate. “I imagine it’s not just a casual relationship. I’m— Sorry. Truly.”

Anakin nods and clears his throat a few times, before choking out, “I’m— I’m not feeling great, Chancellor. I’m sorry, but I think I have to go and—”

“Ah, yes, my dear boy,” Palpatine says and stands up, and Anakin bites his tongue not to tell him not to call him that. He never minded it, he tells himself, like a mantra in his head. “I hope you will feel better soon,” Palpatine says as he steers Anakin toward the doors, and Anakin smiles weakly.

“Thank you,” he says, honestly. “Have a good evening.”

“You too,” Palpatine says, and his kind eyes are the last thing Anakin sees before the guards close the door.

Anakin only feels better when he’s at the Temple, the ride in his speeder clearing his head a little, but the familiar and soft atmosphere of the Temple slowly making his headache weaker. He wants to immediately comm Padmé— even Obi Wan, if she won’t answer. But, Obi Wan obviously will not answer Anakin, and he is going to be left alone, wondering what they’re doing— alone, hundreds of Parsecs away from him—

He stomps all the way to his quarters, Master Windu chastising him as he passes him, but Anakin ignores him and the frightened younglings running away, locking the door as he enters his rooms, in case Ahsoka would think of wandering around again.

He’s furious, and he doesn’t even know at what— He always feels this way after meeting with Palpatine, as if his friend always digs to some ugly truth that Anakin has spent months burying, not wanting to deal with it. He knows he has problems with quick anger, but the strength of his reaction makes some sensible part of himself afraid.

But he can only think about them, together; without him, not even _thinking_ about him, even though they are always on his mind. They clearly only need each other for company, as those last two weeks showed— Padmé only comms him every couple of days, citing her exhaustion from the talks as an excuse— and Obi Wan, of course, ignores him, probably doesn’t even _care_ about him. It surely was just a quick thing for him, and all the— all this talk about leaving the Order and all the tender touches were just a fleeting fancy.

He starts furiously pacing his room, and— yes, he can see it, can see them.

They would look so good together; both ethereal, beautiful, like angels above any of the weak mortals. He can imagine the way Padmé’s dark curls would spill on Obi Wan’s pale skin as she leaned into him; can imagine the way she would shake under his hands, breasts rising rapidly when she tries to catch breath; the way his body would look, tense, muscles coiled and flexing as he— moves in her; her pale, strong legs embracing him, with no way to see where the one begins and the other ends— and he would be flushed, all the way to his chest, eyes dark and hungry, kissing her and moaning into her mouth, both panting, sharing one breath— and he would grab her thighs under her ass, raising her to sit, still inside her, strong hands carrying her weight effortlessly; and she would gasp, her eyes rolling, moving her hips on an instinct, arms gripping his back and neck; and then she would shake on his lap, her spine curving a little, and his fingers would grip her hips until they left a mark, spilling deeply inside her—

—Anakin _furiously_ takes his pants off as he throws himself onto the bed, a furious groan ripping itself from his throat.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(As an apprentice of Anakin Skywalker, Ahsoka quickly learned to trust her instincts just as much as her skills. It has saved her many times and would continue to do so - any Jedi knew that the so-called “gut feeling” was always a result of Force suggestions, so they often acted before thinking, much to the dismay of everyone around them.

And right now, her instincts are screaming at her, as she sits at the pole near the ceiling, watching the scene below her and holding her breath. Anakin told her to come out only when he gave her the sign, but watching him now - angry beyond any reason at the accusations thrown by Fives - it seems he even forgot she was here. Rex is too professional to betray her location by looking at her, and he only watches Fives, radiating overwhelming worry for him.

The clone feels - weird. She knew from the quick briefing that he was unstable, lost in his own mind, and irrational - as the assassination attempt on the Chancellor has proved. They said he was sick, just as Tup was.

And yet, what he’s saying, how he’s behaving—

She feels the Force surrounding her, almost pushing her to help, to make Anakin see the reason.

“He told me in the medical bay,” Fives says, his voice desperate, and Ahsoka almost chokes on how strong he’s emoting the helplessness, the overwhelming feeling of his belief he’s telling the truth coating her senses. She has no idea how Anakin’s able to dismiss it, with how sensitive he is.

“He told you,” Anakin says, his voice shaking with anger, and Ahsoka sees how Rex’s looking at him, torn between sides, “when you tried to assassinate him?!” he almost growls and Ahsoka feels terror freezing the blood in her veins, the cloak of cold and dark growing stronger and stronger with Anakin’s anger and Fives’ despair. “You have gone too far! The Chancellor isn’t capable of what you’re saying.”

“He is!” Fives cries out. “I swear to you, General—”

The Force screams at Ahsoka, her instincts overwhelmed with the need to jump, jump, **_jump_** —

She jumps down without thinking, landing in front of Fives, just in time to redirect the blaster.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“The Great One awaits your incoming,” the servant says as Obi Wan opens the door, their voice timid, head hung low. 

Obi Wan looks at Padmé, and feels the tension seeping into him as he sees her expression. They both know they probably are in big trouble - the gossip in places like this spread quickly, after all.

Moteé wasn’t able to extract anything useful from the data, her expression grim as her slicing resulted in nothing.

“You basically took only the stuff available to anyone,” she says, tapping the table as she looks at her equipment, Padmé standing behind her with a stony expression. “It seems like someone made sure it was cleaned of everything useful.”

And now, with nothing, they were called to the leader, even though they all knew that no talks were planned for the day.

They both go with the servant, Padmé clenching her jaw so hard that her cheek dimples, and Obi Wan strung high, ready to leap to action at any time.

He feels a whisper that something’s _wrong_ just as the servant takes them deeper into the Palace, past any Great Room they were taken to before.

“Where are we going?” he asks, his voice calm but hard. He sees from the corner of his eye that Padmé looks ready to take out the blaster from the under her hem. The servant keeps walking in front of them, their posture straight, steps quick.

They look at them from their shoulder, green eyes wide. “Not here. Please trust me,” they only say, quietly, and keep walking.

Obi Wan and Padmé look at each other. Obi Wan nods slightly, because right now nothing’s screaming “danger!” at him, and Padmé shrugs - it’s not like they have any choice, now.

They walk for a few minutes, Obi Wan holding his breath and stretching his senses, but he doesn’t feel anything sinister and doesn’t even sense any other presence expect theirs as they wander the empty halls, the servant careful and fast.

Finally, they reach a room and Padmé grabs his arm, her grip tight. Obi Wan feels his saber’s cold touch in the sleeve of his robe and it makes him a little calmer.

The servant closes the door and they finally raise their head, not hanging it low anymore. Their face is grimaced and Obi Wan feels shocked at seeing a Palvonti finally expressing some kind of emotion.

“I’m here to give you information,” they say, their voice unwavering despite the fear Obi Wan feels coating them, “in exchange for political asylum.”

“Why now?” Padmé says, hiding any surprise quickly, Senator Amidala standing tall in front of the servant, a blaster in her hand. “What can you give us—”

“We saw you yesterday,” they say, their voice curt. “It was a clever thing to do, but I assume you didn’t find anything at all,” they continue, looking at them without blinking. The room is bright, clearly a maintenance room, with a cleaning droid standing in the corner, unmoving. “KeeSee,” they call out softly and the droid beeps, coming slowly to them. Obi Wan automatically moves his saber from the sleeve to his hand, but doesn’t turn it on. The servant doesn’t even look at him, almost smiling at the droid. “Show them.”

The droid beeps and starts showing a holo of various data collected in it, showing various figures and places. Padmé almost gasps as she sees the Chancellor, but other people quickly take his place.

“KeeSee has almost everything that’s available in the Palace,” the servant continues, their stare now getting more pleading. “The Great One is obsessed with gathering as much information as they can about everyone. I’m sure the Republic would greatly value this information.”

“And you’re going to give it to us, just like that?” Obi Wan says, staring at the holos, as the droid keeps quickly showing them. He sees a rotating silhouette of Count Dooku and swallows, the onslaught of emotions overwhelming him. It could be nothing, but—

“My people just want peace,” the servant says, desperate. “You— You can help us. I know the Republic can protect those who seek protection— We just want to free ourselves from the Great One—”

“Palvonta is neutral,” Padmé says, her voice almost soft now, but still gripping the blaster. “The Republic cannot intervene in its business without declaring war and compromising your neutrality.”

“The Great One will join Separatists,” the servant says and they start pacing. The droid whines slowly and stops the holos, rolling to them. “Surely you can— We just want to get out,” they say, clenching their fists.

“Naboo can grant them protection,” Obi Wan says slowly to Padmé. “This sector is your neighbor - surely this act can be considered under your Refugee Bill.”

“I can be thrown under the investigation for interfering with the neutral world during negotiations,” Padmé says, almost biting. “The Great One can publicly declare war on Naboo in this case.”

“They’re joining the Separatists’,” Obi Wan says, something gripping his throat - they have to get that data. “It’s enough to—”

“We’re here for peaceful negotiations, Master Kenobi,” Padmé says coldly, and looks at the servant, who’s watching them, fingers clenched on their simple robes. “How many people?” she asks anyway.

“Two hundred and forty-seven,” the servant says quickly, one hand on the top of the cleaning droid. “Please, Senator— We have no way of living here. They’re slowly taking us, one by one— They have some way of messing with our minds, and we have so many children—”

Padmé Naberrie is not one to ignore people’s suffering. She grips the bridge of her nose.

“You have to tell me everything I need to know,” she says, clenching her jaw, but her voice is softer now.

The smile on the Palvonti’s face is almost blinding.

  
  
  
  
  
  


A few days later, as Padmé and Moteé organize a way of getting the refugees away from the Palvonta without the Great One or Separatists knowing, Obi Wan spends every minute available on reading the data.

The only thing that makes sense is that he has to take it to the Council as quickly as possible, the tangled lines between Darth Tyrannus, Count Dooku, Trade Federation, Banking Clan, Kaminoans, various Senators proven to be traitors to the Republic, and, most importantly, The Office, making his head hurt with the pounding and the irrational feel of _truth_ at the grasp of his fingers. He has no idea how the Great One gathered this much information, seemingly _playing_ with both the Separatists and the Republic, if they knew everything that was there.

His comm beeps and he looks at it, blinking, his breath catching in his throat as he sees who’s calling him. He keeps looking until the call ends, but just as the beeping stops, it picks up again, relentless.

Obi Wan has known Anakin for years. He knows when something’s really _wrong_ and when Anakin’s just bored.

He picks up.

“Obi Wan Kenobi,” he says quietly, his lungs almost aching, and he hears only silence for a few seconds.

“Don’t be mad,” Anakin says after a while, his voice— _wrong_. “We really messed up.”

“What happened?” Obi Wan asks, dread filling him.

Anakin sighs, and then says, “It’s about the clones. You have to come back.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


So, technically, the four of them are the traitors of the Republic.

Technically.

“Ahsoka,” Anakin says to her, gripping the steer of the speeder so tightly that his fingers are white. “I know you can be impulsive sometimes, but that’s really pushing it.”

Ahsoka looks at him and looks at the back of the speeder, where Rex is sitting with unconscious Fives laying next to him. Rex is staring to the side, his profile hard, lines all over his face.

“Don’t you feel it?” she says, almost furiously, the guilt eating at her. She tries not to think about the clone she accidentally hit with his blaster bolt, the rest of Coruscant Guard thankfully just stunned. “He’s— drugged, I think.”

Anakin’s not looking at her, but he’s also driving far away from the surface and the patrols, so he probably won’t drive straight to the nearest patrol. Hopefully.

“He has tried to kill the Chancellor,” Anakin says, almost hissing the words, throwing the look at the unconscious clone. “He’s a terrorist.”

“He’s your soldier,” Ahsoka says, suddenly furious. “I know the Chancellor is your friend, but— We have to hear what he has to say, I _know_ it. That stuff he kept talking about— Do you really think he could just _come up_ with those chips? You— You saw Tup, how he was behaving… that wasn’t normal.”

Anakin’s grip doesn’t lessen up and Ahsoka’s getting a little worried that he’s going to hurt himself. She saw how bloodied his knuckles were for the last few days and how he always quietly refused any bacta patches for them. 

“They would've killed him,” Ahsoka pleads, desperate. She _felt_ it in the Force and she knows he had to, too. “We have to know.”

Anakin finally looks at her from the corner of his eyes, quietly getting on lower and lower levels, where they can be safe for some time.

“I hope what you did was worth it,” he only says.

  
  
  
  


(“We have chips inside us, all clones,” Fives says a few hours later as the drug slowly leaves him, making him more clear-headed. They’re in one of Anakin’s secret places, the hotel shady, but safe, with a bed for Fives and chairs for them.

Anakin’s standing in front of the window, his back turned to them.

“Tup’s was corrupted,” he continues, quietly. “It made— It made him act upon the orders too soon. The Kaminoans tried to hide it, but— Shaak Ti made them take me to the Jedi Council, so I could tell them— And they drugged me—”

“So you say you didn’t try to assassinate the Chancellor?” Anakin says, still turned away from them, and Ahsoka throws a look at his back.

Fives is quiet for a while, and then says, “He called us slaves. Said— Said that we only have one purpose. And that no slave gets a voice in his world.”

Something breaks. Ahsoka doesn’t even look at Anakin, staring at Fives, horrified.

“I can prove it,” Fives continues, not even flinching at the sound. “They— They took my chip, so I couldn’t show you, but— Rex, you still have yours. If we can only find a medical droid—”

Anakin turns to them, his fists tightly clenched. “I will get the droid,” he only says and leaves the room without a word. Ahsoka looks at the door, worried, before she stands, sighing quietly.

“You have to rest,” she says softly to Fives, who’s looking all kinds of tired, tortured, and horrified. Rex’s face is blank, but there is something in his eyes—

Ahsoka misses when she only had to worry about getting more clankers dismembered than her Master, just so she could gloat, Master Kenobi throwing snide remarks from the side, delighted to make fun of Anakin with her.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“We have to get back,” Obi Wan says to Padmé just as he ends his call with Anakin, his face white and lips tight. 

Padmé looks up from her datapad, frowning. “Now? Obi Wan, you know—”

“Anakin and Ahsoka are considered for treason, they helped to escape a terrorist,” he says, something inside him whispering that he _knew_ something like this would happen—

He clearly cannot leave them on their own.

“What?” Padmé cries out and stands up, staring at him with wide eyes. “How—”

“He said we have to discuss it privately,” he says, pacing around the room, nervous despite trying not to be. “But— One of his troopers, Fives, discovered something vital about the clones and tried to kill the Chancellor. They found him and tried to talk to him, but the Coruscant Guard came, so they had run away with Fives,” he says, grimacing. 

Padmé stares at him, and says, her voice faint, “I can’t leave. Obi Wan— My career will be ruined. I have to stay until the Great One declares their decision.”

Obi Wan clenches and unclenches his fists. “I can’t stay here,” he says. “Not— Not with the information Na’im gave us, and now with this—”

Padmé places her hands on the desk and leans for a second, closing her eyes, breathing through her nose. Obi Wan watches her, helpless - he can’t leave her, but he also cannot stay, not with a terrible picture being painted in front of him with every second.

She raises her head, and looks at him, her eyes durasteel, “I’m coming with you.”

“Padmé,” he says, reaching out to her, “you just said—”

She smiles, grimly, and says, “Well, if someone has tried to assassinate me, of course I would want to leave, wouldn’t I?”

Obi Wan, seeing the look in her eyes, suddenly realizes that she and Anakin are way too similar for his health.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Rex keeps looking at his chip, moving it around in his fingers, but Anakin cannot look, the taste of bile and betrayal too strong in his mouth. He cannot imagine how his Captain must feel, looking at the physical evidence of something taking away his free will, but he’s not able to comfort him.

His mind keeps replaying what Fives said before he walked out, too unstable to stay in the room with them, and accidentally hurt one of them.

_Slaves_ , Fives said, his voice wavering. _No slave gets a voice in my world_.

He wasn’t lying about the chips, and he— he doesn’t seem sick, not like how everyone kept telling them, pressing about catching him soon, just so he couldn’t hurt anyone. He’s quiet, calm, not as chaotic as he was in the hangar when he was drugged. He didn’t try to hurt him or Ahsoka, and the datapad Anakin had read told him that Fives was sick with the same thing that made Tup kill Tiplar, a Separatists’ disease affecting clones so they would kill their Generals. He has no reason to lie about the chips.

Anakin trusts his men with his life. He always takes their side.

_Slaves_.

The Force keeps pounding at him, loud and relentless, and he knows that one of the reasons why he has acted so irrationally was his exhaustion, making him too weak to protest Ahsoka’s actions.

“Master, you have to go back to the Temple,” Ahsoka says, anxious, as they sit on the roof, watching carefully the area, hoods on their heads. It’s been fourteen hours since their escape and surely everyone now knows of their treason. “You— You can tell it was my fault, and you tried to stop me, but Fives and I escaped—”

“I'm not leaving you, Ahsoka,” he says, his voice making no room for arguing. “Obi Wan’s going to come soon, and he can take the chip to the Council and they can untangle all this mess.”

She’s quiet for a while. “I’m sorry,” she finally whispers, her voice quavering a little. “It’s all my fault—”

“It’s not your fault,” Anakin says, tired. He feels exhausted, mentally and physically. He wishes Obi Wan was with them. Surely he would handle it perfectly and everything would go back to normal.

Soon.

Anakin swallows down his uncertainty, closely wrapping his anxieties at seeing Obi Wan again, after those weeks of silence and one quick, emotionless talk, and hiding it far, far away. He reaches out and gently touches Ahsoka’s arm, trying to support her, sending comfort through their bond.

He thinks how hard it must be on her, the knowledge of what they’ve done and what they _don’t_ know; of clones programmed to kill Jedi.

“We will deal with it,” he finally says, and tries to believe that, Fives’ voice echoing through his mind, _slaves, slaves, slaves, slaves_ —

—he thinks of Palpatine, his friend, a person he once trusted with _everything_ , baring his soul in front of, when he couldn’t imagine doing it to anyone else, even his Master, feeling alone in the world.

He cannot reconcile this image of his dearest friend and a mentor with what Fives’s saying. He tries to grasp at excuses, his mind twisting over itself trying to find any _reasons_ —

—but deep down, his nerves still alight with the _look_ screamed at him by the Force weeks ago, he knows what’s the truth.

Turns out that truth is that everything was a lie.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Padmé holocomms him from the ship, her face full of anxiety.

“Anakin,” she says as she sees him, her eyes softening a little. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“You too,” he says, his heart hurting as seeing her, hair mussed, face tense. “You know I can’t tell you much—”

“Are you safe?” she interrupts him, reaching out with her hand. Anakin softly places his own in front of hers, the holo flickering a little instead of letting him feel her skin.

“Yes,” he says, unable to take his eyes off her. He vaguely remembers his fury at hearing the— the _rumors_ about her and Obi Wan, but seeing her, he only feels happy beyond any reason. “Are you?”

Something like guilt shows in her eyes. “Well,” she says after a pause. “Now I am.”

“Now?” he asks, his brows furrowing, and Padmé starts looking around, not meeting his eyes.

“You see,” she starts, her voice guilty, and Anakin— he knows that tone. It’s the tone of a woman going to some lower levels bars to get information, or sneaking on a ship to go on a dangerous mission despite him protesting, or saying, “I’m going to help Obi Wan,” throwing herself head-first to where the war has started.

“Padmé,” he only says, and Padmé sighs, defeated.

“We may have staged an assassination attempt on my life,” she admits, and Anakin feels his heart stopping. “But everything’s fine!” she says quickly as she sees his face. “It was all planned and Obi Wan had everything under control. And now we’re only hours away from the Coruscant, legally leaving Palvonta. And even the refugees are safe on their way to Naboo.”

Anakin almost too afraid to ask at this point. “Refugees?”

“I will tell you later,” Padmé says, dismissively. “We have bigger things to worry about.”

“Yeah," Anakin says, a little weakly.

  
  
  
  


Obi Wan arrives a few hours later, a hood on his head, and saying almost as soon as he enters, “You know the Council and half of the Coruscant are looking for you.”

“Nice to see you too,” Anakin says, but the words a little too honest to his taste. His skin buzzes with the need to touch him, to feel him— He was so far away for so long, and Anakin relaxes as he feels his presence in the Force, warm and light as always, even despite the shields.

Obi Wan looks at him, something unreadable in his eyes, and Anakin tries to swallow past the boulder in his throat, choking him. “Tell me everything,” he says, looking at Ahsoka and Fives, Rex standing guard outside.

They do, and with every word Obi Wan grows more and more worried, stroking his beard, radiating unease.

“Let me see the chip,” he says quietly, and they hand him the container, the ugly, furiously red biochip inside. Obi Wan turns it around in his hands. “You say every clone has it?”

“Yes,” Fives says, standing tall and straight, his facade unnerving. “I got that information on Kamino. They say it’s to control Jango Fett’s temper, but—” he cuts himself off and grits his teeth.

“I have to take it to the Council,” Obi Wan says. “I— I believe you, but there we can analyze the chip and what’s on it. If what you say is the truth—”

“Then the clones are the Sith’s scheme to kill all the Jedi,” Anakin says, bluntly, and Fives flinches. 

“I only want what best for the Republic,” Fives says, pleadingly. “You have to believe me.”

Obi Wan tries to smile at him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We will handle it.” He looks at Anakin and Ahsoka, a worried frown between his brows. “In the meantime— You two—”

“We’re good,” Anakin says, just as Ahsoka admits, “It would be nice to have a bath.”

Anakin throws her a look, and she shrugs, as if saying “what?”. Obi Wan smiles slightly at them, but he still looks tense.

“They say you tried to kill the Chancellor, Fives,” Obi Wan says to the trooper, his voice heavy. “You know what’s the cost of that.”

Fives rises his chin high. “The Chancellor is a traitor, if he knew about it and was hiding it,” Fives says, his tone sharp. Anakin bites his tongue, fighting the instinct to stand up for Palpatine, even though he knows, deep inside, that it is the truth. “And I’m willing to deal with the consequences if everything comes to light and we won’t have to deal with Jedi blood on our hands.”

“If everything you told is the truth,” Obi Wan says, “you have done a great service to the Republic and to the Jedi, and nobody will forget that.”

Fives nods, the atmosphere heavy, and Obi Wan nods twice to himself, then says, “I must be going. The Council has much to discuss.”

He strides through the room, then stops a little, and says, a little hesitatingly, “Anakin.” Anakin turns his head to him, his heart pounding. “If you could come with me.”

“Of course,” he says quickly, getting up and almost running after him. He ignores the looks on his back.

They walk out of the room, nodding at Rex, who’s wandering on the halls, almost innocuous. They quickly get out of the hotel, quiet, ignoring the look the lady at the lobby throws them. He would be ashamed to know this location if it didn’t prove to be so helpful now.

“I didn’t know you wandered in places like this,” Obi Wan says, the shade of the teasing he usually threw before. Anakin feels unease rise in him.

“Master,” he says, but Obi Wan shakes his head, tiredly. 

“Anything you want to say, Anakin, will have to wait,” he says, stopping in the dark corner of the street, the smell almost overwhelming.

Anakin reaches out slowly and delicately touches the palm of Obi Wan’s hand. The dragon in his heart calms a little as Obi Wan makes no move to step back.

“Master,” he says again, his voice weak. “Obi Wan. I just wanted to say— Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me.”

Obi Wan looks at him for a moment, _something_ simmering in his eyes, before he gruffs out, “There’s a sinister play here, Anakin, don’t give yourself too much credit.”

Anakin deflates. “Of course.”

“But,” Obi Wan says, turning his hands a little so their palms almost touch, Anakin’s touch fleeting and delicate, his hand unmoving. “If you have something to say, I’m willing to hear it out later,” he finally says, and Anakin feels delight bursting in him, almost blinding any despair of the situation.

“Yes,” he says, smiling a little, trying to stop himself from outright grinning, though he knows Obi Wan must have felt the burst of happiness. “That would be— good.”

Obi Wan sighs a little and leans back, Anakin immediately growing hungry for his touch. “We don’t have time now, Anakin,” he says, and Anakin nods, taking a step away, though everything in him is screaming to stay.

He watches as Obi Wan leaves, his heart beating a steady rhythm.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(“Cody,” Obi Wan says as he goes to his Commander’s room, a little out of breath. Cody raises his head and quickly stands straight.

“General,” he says, surprised. “What are you—”

“Cody,” Obi Wan says, his mind whirling from the onslaught of information. “As the High General of The Grand Army of Republic, I’m thereby naming you, Marshal Commander Cody, the Chief of Defense Staff.”

“What—” Cody begins, bewildered, but Obi Wan continues, “In my opinion, there is no other man responsible enough for this place. The current laws don’t prohibit high ranking troopers from taking this position, so everything is legal.”

“General,” Cody starts, his eyes wide. “I’m not sure I—”

“The paperwork is taken care of,” Obi Wan says, pacing around the cabin. “So in everyone’s eyes, this is binding.”

“Obi Wan,” Cody finally barks, the General stopping his walk. “What. Are you talking about.”

Obi Wan sends him a quick grin. “We’re protecting the Republic,” he says. “I will tell you everything later, we’re figuring this out as we go.”

He goes to the door, and then stops, saying, “Please contact Captain Rex. He will tell you everything. You might want to visit the medical halls.”

He leaves without any other word, Cody left standing with his bucket under his arm, speechless.

Fucking Jedi.)

  
  
  


(“Senator Organa,” Padmé says, conversationally, as the data she has presented to the Loyalist Committee circles around them, leaving no room for doubts in their minds, several Senators faces clearly showing the shock as they read on their datapads everything Padmé has prepared. She possibly has half of the bottle of concealer on her face to hide the circles under her eyes from the four days she has spent preparing the data. “Do you think the hard proof that the Chancellor is using power acquired during the war to further spread his influence of the law, possibly conspiring with the leaders of the CIS, and several documents tying him to have a close relationship to known traitors of the Republic, not to mention the strong possibility of him _creating_ the war to his own gain, is enough for the Security Council to declare the Chancellor a threat to the Republic without the Senate voting for months about dismissing him from the Office before it’s too late?”

Palpatine really should’ve thought more about it before sending her on that planet.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The Council decides to hide Fives in the Temple for his safety, despite some murmuring of a non-Force-sensitive living there being outrageous. Ahsoka is briefed for some time with Anakin, and she leaves the room in good humor, saying that it’s time they have appreciated her.

“So he’s the Sith?” Anakin asks quietly as they enter his rooms, Ahsoka immediately getting serious again.

Obi Wan looks at him, and then says, sorrowfully, “We think so, yes. He’s the only one cleared to execute the Order 66, despite every other being available to other officers.”

Anakin has to look to the side, the tears almost like acid in his eyes, his throat hurting. “So everything he has—”

“I’m sorry, Anakin,” Obi Wan says, his tone soft. “I know he was your friend.”

Ahsoka lays a hand on his shoulder and he takes a deep breath, the disbelief slowly clearing his mind, leaving only fury behind.

“Anakin,” Obi Wan says, as he and Ahsoka take a step back at the intensity of the things he’s blasting. “Be mindful of your feelings. Don’t let the anger control you, _please_.”

Anakin, through the fury, hears the untold, and the Force embraces him, warm and comforting. He breathes out, trying to control his anger and not let it cloud him, grasping at the Force. He thinks of those he loves, thinks of their reaction if he would once again let this monster control him, and feels himself relaxing a little under the storm.

“I felt it,” Anakin says after a while, as Ahsoka and Obi Wan keep watching him. “I— He invited me some time ago and I have felt so _weird_ there, the Force was almost screaming at me—”

“But why now?” Ahsoka asks, troubled. “I mean— You have known him for more than ten years and you have never felt anything.”

“I—” Anakin starts and looks at Obi Wan, who’s stroking his beard, his face stony, something like _anger_ in his eyes. “—I was kind of meditating _a lot_ those past days, and I think I opened myself to the Force more than ever before, at least since coming to the Temple.”

Ahsoka hums a little, sitting on the couch. “Well, he was always a creep, but, you know, I just assumed it was the “old politician being deeply interested in a young talented man” creepy thing, not “secretly the Sith Lord controlling the Republic” creepy thing.”

Something creaks and Ahsoka and Anakin look surprised at Obi Wan, feeling the tremble in the Force around them.

“Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat, the Force relaxing around him. “Don’t mind me.”

Anakin keeps looking at him, worried, but Ahsoka bites her lip, her voice getting a little hesitant again, “But what now? We— We don’t have _solid_ proof, right?”

Obi Wan sighs, massaging his temples. “Me and Padmé have collected something that ties him to the Separatists,” he says, and Anakin looks at him, shocked at hearing it for the first time. “She’s working on making it a case with Senators that want him out of the Office. If they can prove that he’s a danger, even a little— The Jedi can take care of him without it being seen as a coup for power.”

“And the clones?” Anakin asks, tired beyond any words. “If he says the order, they still—”

“If the Chancellor is declared unfit for his role, he loses any control over the GAR, which goes to the Chief of Defense Staff—”

“—who could be Palpatine’s man,” Anakin says, angrily, but Obi Wan throws him a _look_ that makes him close his mouth.

“—who, as we have found, hasn’t been appointed during this war, because _clearly_ the Chancellor didn’t think it would be needed, so I declared Commander Cody the Chief,” he finishes, rolling his eyes at Anakin. “Then, even if Palpatine says the order, it has no meaning.”

“Huh,” Ahsoka says, blinking slowly. “Rex says that more than half of the 501st has already taken out their chips,” she murmurs.

“All the Council members have told their Commanders about it, though not all mentioned the order specifically, so we can assume many of the battalions are taking them out,” Obi Wan says. “With this, even if Palpatine acts before we can, many clones won’t do anything.”

Ahsoka yawns and Anakin goes to her, crouching down next to where she’s sitting. He places his hand on her knee and smiles at her. “Go take that bath you wanted, Snips, and get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

“What about you?” Ahsoka says, worried, despite her exhaustion. The past couple of days were really hard on her, and Anakin’s heart aches for her. 

“We’ll be fine,” he says, soothing her. “You did good, Ahsoka. WIthout you, Fives would probably die and we wouldn’t know anything. I’m sorry I was so hard on you at the beginning.”

Ahsoka smiles a little at him. “What would you do without me, Skyguy,” she says, even as her face gets a little darker from embarrassment. “Can I—” she starts, a little hesitant. “Can I sleep here today?”

“Of course,” Anakin says softly, even though he longs to go to Padmé’s apartment. “Now go wash yourself. You stink,” he says as he stands up, and Ahsoka kicks his shins, huffing.

Obi Wan and him watch her go to the fresher, before Anakin turns to him.

“We have to talk,” he says quietly and Obi Wan nods, though he doesn’t look very happy about it. “I— I know now it’s not the best time for this, but— I, I really thought much about everything you said and I’m—”

“Anakin,” Obi Wan starts, but Anakin shakes his head, coming closer to him, but careful not to surround him.

“What I’ve done is unforgivable,” Anakin says, the truth torn out of him in a whisper, the shame almost eating him up. “I— I know that now, and I knew it then, and there’s no way to atone for it. I— I had many excuses, and I will never forget what they did, and it makes me so _furious_ , I—” he swallows, the angry tears falling down freely on his cheeks, “But I’m _trying_ , I swear, I’ve been meditating for three weeks, and I’m so exhausted, and that’s why I felt that something was wrong with Palpatine— I just wanted for it to _stop_ , and I choked everything down, only leaving this _monster_ —”

“Anakin,” Obi Wan says, his voice heartbroken, reaching out to him, and Anakin grasps him, feeling as if his lungs are torn open, bleeding open in his chest. He lowers his shields, trying to _show_ Obi Wan that he means it, all of it— He tries and tries and tires—

“Forgive me,” Anakin babbles, the tears dripping down from his chin, but he doesn’t even register them. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you hate me— I will go to the Council when all of this ends, I’m no Jedi, I don’t know why I ever tried to pretend—”

“My heart,” Obi Wan says, gripping his face, and Anakin almost kneels at the touch, famished for more, more, _more_ — “It’s alright.”

Anakin goes to the safe haven of his arms, hiding his face in his neck, the tears free-falling. Obi Wan only surrounds him with love and warmth, the forgiveness flaring brightly without any bitterness. 

He doesn’t know how he could despite this man in the past, how he could choose the Chancellor over him, when he was younger.

They stand like that for some time, Anakin calming down with Obi Wan’s stable, quiet calm soothing his mind. It feels a little like catharsis, leaving Anakin exhausted, but feeling _clean_ for the first time in years.

“The things you do to me,” Obi Wan sighs a little into his hair, and Anakin allows himself a smile.

“Who would’ve thought a Jedi Master like you would endure so many emotions and touch for so much time,” he teases quietly, comfortable in Obi Wan’s arms. Obi Wan grabs his arms and pushes him away a little.

“You’re right,” he says, his face serious, but his eyes glimmering. “For the next two months, I’m not indulging in any of your touchy stuff.”

“I still have Padmé,” Anakin says, biting his tongue afterwards, but Obi Wan only smiles slightly.

“Yes,” he says, something peculiar in his voice. “You still have Padmé.”

  
  
  
  
  


The next day, at the first available time, he goes to Padmé, desperate to see her and make sure that she’s alright. He travels quickly, careful not to attract any attention, still not cleared from hiding the man that attempted an attack at the Chancellor, attentive of any spies that could spot him and report to Palpatine.

“Anakin,” Padmé says, delighted as she sees him, closing the door and throwing herself at him. He catches her, relaxing at the feel and smell of her.

“Padmé,” he says, his voice choked, before leaning down to kiss her, desperate. They kiss for a while, before separating, only resting their foreheads against each other, simply feeling the presence of the other.

“How’s the Senate?” he asks, the fear of anything happening to her almost overwhelming him. 

“We’re writing the petition to the Security Council, collecting everything we have,” Padmé sighs, leaning away from him, but still holding her hands on his hips. “It’s a matter of days, really, to remove him from any real power. And then the Jedi can arrest him.”

Anakin shudders a little, and she touches his cheek, her touch gentle. “I’m sorry, Anakin,” she says, truly regretful. “I know how much you cared for him.”

Anakin sends her a weak smile, saying, “Don’t worry. I’m dealing with it.”

Padmé hums, kissing his cheek. “I love you,” she says, desperate to bring him any comfort, and he smiles at her, more honestly this time.

“I love you, too,” he says, warm in her presence.

“Have you talked to Obi Wan?” she asks as she starts to go deeper into the apartment, holding his hand.

“Yeah, a little,” he sighs, but he feels the love spreading through him at the mention of Obi Wan. “We’re— Getting better, I think.”

“That’s wonderful,” Padmé says, smiling, as she takes him into the kitchen for something to drink. “You know we still haven’t had that proper talk,” she says, staring at him meaningfully.

“You want to, now?” he asks, a little bewildered. “When I’m a suspect in protecting a terrorist and we have a Sith Lord to deal with?”

“Why not?” Padmé shrugs. “I— I really enjoyed our time together on Palvonta, you know.”

“About that,” Anakin starts, uneasy, as the walk towards the couches. “You know— I’m aware that Palpatine is _not_ a truthful source of information, but when you were gone, he said something—”

“Oh uh,” Padmé says. “That look really worries me.”

“But,” Anakin presses on, ignoring her teasing, “He said that he… He had some information, about you two being seen— getting intimate, or something, you see—”

“Oh,” Padmé says, and a blush starts creeping on her.

“So,” Anakin continues, his stomach in knots, “I just wanted to, you know, make sure if it’s the truth or not.”

“Anakin,” Padmé starts, a little nervous. “It’s not what you think—”

“I’m not mad,” Anakin starts, remembering his furious—

—actually. Maybe better not telling her that he masturbated to the image of them together, consumed by his anger.

“You better not be.” Padmé throws him a look. “That would be really hypocritical of you, you know.”

“Yeah,” Anakin says, ashamed.

“Anyway.” Padmé clears her throat. “I— We tried to get some data and there were people coming, so we pretended to kiss, you know, nothing serious. I guess somehow that information got to Palpatine.”

“He—” Anakin tries to think about that day, through the fog of his fury and exhaustion that he has felt then. He mainly remembers the headache. “I think he was trying to make me doubt you,” he confesses, the memory of the _care_ in Palpatine’s voice making his skin buzz. “He kept saying how you didn’t trust me and all of that.”

“What an asshole,” Padmé hisses, her eyes squinting. “He— Anakin, he was clearly manipulating you.”

Anakin realized it a few days ago, actually. “Yeah,” he says. “He’s the Sith Lord.”

“And you’ve known him for so long,” Padmé continues, almost horrified now. “Even I— When I was younger, he made me trust in himself so much— _I’m_ the one who gave him the power—”

“Padmé,” Anakin says, grasping her hands which start shaking a little. “Don’t think like that. He was... Manipulating all of us, all those years.” It’s a hard thing to admit, almost not getting out of him, but it needs to be said, both for his and Padmé’s sake. He thinks about all those _years_ when he was ranting about the Jedi or his Master, and Palpatine was pretending to _care_ , when in reality he was only making him despise and hate everyone more and more, trusting only Palpatine.

“Anyway,” he says, desperate to change the topic. “You two kissed, then?” he asks, and the tension he feels in his gut— he’s not really sure what it is.

“It was fake,” Padmé admits, and giggles a little. “I was letting out all those kinds of fake moans, you know, trying to embarrass the person who walked in, and he pretended to be _drunk_ —”

“So it was nothing?” he asks, suddenly invested in this so much, that his breath almost stops. He’s not— furious, not like he was before, not like when Palpatine was winding him up, closing him in his spiral of anger, whispering all kinds of things into his mind.

“Well, yes,” Padmé says, but she’s avoiding his eyes, blushing.

Anakin feels a smile crawling into his face. “Padmé,” he says. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not,” Padmé says, still looking at the wall. “You’re imagining things.”

He’s outright grinning now. “You know it’s not your fault if you want to kiss him,” he says. “He has that effect on people. I understand, really.”

“Shut up,” she murmurs, but she finally looks at him, her cheeks delightfully red. “I just—” she groans loudly, hiding her face in her hands. “I want to kiss him so much!”

Anakin laughs out loud for the first time in _weeks_.

  
  


(“The reports show that almost all of the GAR have disposed of their chips,” Obi Wan says through the holo. “The Council is now tied, unfortunately, because even if the majority of the clones won’t attack us, the Jedi could still be accused of treason if we confront him.”

“And there’s still Dooku to worry about,” Anakin says, his headache such a constant, that he almost doesn’t remember how it is to live without it.

“Tomorrow the Security Council is finally voting on making the decision,” Padmé says, troubled. “It’s really a wonder it hasn’t reached Palpatine.”

“Maybe he knows,” Anakin says, quietly. He has known the man for thirteen years. It seems possible. “He— He has planned so much of everything, it is a miracle we even stumbled upon what we have. Maybe he knows and just waits for our move. He still hasn’t reached out to me and it’s been days, now.”

“No one’s omniscient, not even the Sith Lord,” Obi Wan says, his voice a little soft. “The Great One was considered a god and they were obsessed with getting everything they could on everyone— I wouldn’t be surprised if they had some files on us before we arrived. He would slip eventually.”

“Do you want to visit us today?” Anakin asks, a little desperate to change the topic. He’s choking from the tension and getting tired of the constant talks of Siths and manipulations and years of lies.

Padmé clears her throat. “We could have dinner,” she says, some humor in her voice.

Obi Wan looks at them through the holo, his expression unreadable, before he says, “Yes. I think it would be nice.”

Padmé and Anakin subtly fistbump under the table.)

  
  
  
  
  


The dinner is delightful, despite them ignoring the bantha in the middle of the room, and also avoiding any talks about politics, for now.

Obi Wan shoves any unease he feels deep inside him, releasing the tension into the Force, focusing on a nice dinner with his friends.

Or— With his former Padawan whom he loves and is sleeping with, and his wife, who is also not really indifferent to Obi Wan.

Force. The things he keeps getting himself, really.

“So,” Anakin says, Obi Wan almost surprised at him taking the voice. “Now, that there are no secrets between us, we can have that talk.”

“That talk,” Obi Wan repeats, dubious, and Anakin rolls his eyes at him.

“Yeah,” he drawls. “Like that fact that you kissed my wife.”

Obi Wan looks at Padmé, who’s deeply interested in her wallpaper. “You told him?” he asks, surprised and a little flustered.

“Was I supposed _not to_?” she asks him, incredulous, and he backs off.

“No, no, of course not, I just thought—” He turns to Anakin, who looks like he’s having a great time.

“Don’t mind me,” he says, grinning. “I’m really enjoying it.”

“Obi Wan,” Padmé suddenly says, standing up, and throwing her hands on the table with a bang, making the crockery tremble a little. Obi Wan looks at her, surprised, but she’s drilling him with her look. “Are you attracted to me?”

Obi Wan’s at loss for words. “Well, you see—” he tries to say, unusually tongue-tied.

Padmé leans more towards him, her eyes squinted, face really intense. Obi Wan’s almost afraid. “Are you?” she repeats and Obi Wan almost kicks Anakin from the waves of amusement he feels from him.

He looks straight into her eyes, almost defeated. “Yes,” he says; admits. “I am.” He’s afraid to look at Anakin.

Padmé’s face softens, something shining in her eyes. “And do you feel anything for me?” she continues, and now that’s much harder to say out loud.

“I wouldn’t call it love,” he says, finally, “but yes, I care greatly for you.”

Padmé smiles, the force of her happiness almost blinding him, and leans more, reaching with one hand to his face. Obi Wan’s impressed with her upper-body strength - she’s supporting all of her body almost only on one that one hand on the table.

She grabs his cheek, and says, “I like you, too,” before leaning and kissing him, her lips soft, but forceful.

Obi Wan makes a slight sound, surprised, even though Padmé wasn’t very subtle. His hands wander, one holding her nape under her curls, the other going to her waist, straining up to lessen the tension on her, making both of them almost lay on the table, desperate to get closer to her.

Kissing her is different than kissing Anakin - she’s not as soft or pliant under his hands, but it’s still delightful to feel her affection, clouding his senses, her touch pleasant and welcome. It’s different than that charade on Palvonta, and Obi Wan finds that her genuine affection and attraction is making him light-headed, the little sounds she’s letting out suddenly making Obi Wan want more, to lay her on the table, to kiss her neck and discover what makes her really—

Anakin coughs loudly from beside them, and they separate, blinking at each other, one of Padmé’s hands tangled in his hair, the other gripping his robes tightly, balancing only on her knees on the chair. He leans away from her a little, finding that he’s standing, leaning over the table.

“Are you okay?” Anakin says, and they look at him - he looks a little flushed, his voice rough. “You both— really went for it.”

“Yeah,” Padmé rasps, still grasping his robes. “Totally okay.”

“Mhm,” Obi Wan says and leans in to kiss her, a little more chaste this time. Anakin makes a noise and they both smile into the kiss.

“Are you okay?” Padmé asks him, amused, as they lean away from each other.

“Mhm,” Anakin says, his voice a little high. “Peachy.”

“Come here,” Obi Wan murmurs, tugging Anakin to him, Padmé’s hands still clenched on his clothes. He leans to kiss him, their first serious kiss since the— before that last dinner they had.

Anakin hums into the kiss, immediately growing soft under him, opening his mouth to him, desperate, and Obi Wan’s hit with a wave of arousal so hard that he’s almost dizzy, grabbing Anakin for more support.

Anakin’s not really a great support, with how weak he is under him.

They both almost topple over, before Obi Wan feels a tug on his tunic separating them from Padmé, who’s watching with wide eyes. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s go somewhere else before we ruin my table.”

Obi Wan agrees and lets go of Anakin, who blinks a little, trying to stand straight. Padmé gets down from the chair, and reaches out to him, saying, “Come, darling,” and Anakin almost runs around the table to get to her. She giggles and takes his hand, before turning to Obi Wan, who’s watching them, his heart tender and full of love. “You too,” she says, and Obi Wan smiles at her.

The three of them walk to Padmé’s bedroom, before she lets go of Anakin’s hand, grabbing Obi Wan’s.

“I want you to know, that I’m— I’m not expecting we’ll do anything—” she says, a little nervous, and Obi Wan feels touched by her concern, even though totally unnecessary. He touches her face and she falls quiet, blinking slowly at him through her lashes.

“I’m alright, Padmé,” he says and leans down to kiss her lightly on lips. “Truly. Thank you.”

He turns to Anakin, who’s standing next to them, his eyes dark and wide. “Are you alright with all of this, Anakin?” Obi Wan asks, reaching out to him. Anakin takes his hand and they all stand next to each other, holding one another.

“Yes,” Anakin says, kissing Padmé’s cheek, who hums a little. “I love you so much and I thought I would be jealous about you two, but I actually don’t mind. Like, at all.”

Padmé grins at him and goes on her tiptoes, kissing his chin. “See? What a great talk. Now let’s undress.”

Anakin snorts, but lets go of Obi Wan to let Padmé take his tabard and tunics away. He gets a little shy under Obi Wan’s eyes.

“What?” Obi Wan murmurs, leaning in to kiss Anakin’s neck as Padmé uncovers it.

“Nothing,” Anakin gasps, leaning his head back for Obi Wan, and he hums a little, lovingly kissing the column of his neck, the pulse fluttering on his lips. He teasingly bites a few times, and Anakin makes a noise deep in his throat before Obi Wan fixates on one spot and sucks a little, his hands caressing Anakin’s naked chest.

He leans away, satisfied with the result, Anakin’s eyes getting a little glassy. Anakin looks at Padmé, who’s watching them, transfixed, and he says, his voice rough, “He has this thing about marking.”

“I do not,” Obi Wan says, but Padmé grins at him.

“I saw Anakin after your first time,” she only says, playfully, then turns to Anakin. “And you’re the one to talk, Mr. I’m Going To Mark My Wife So Much That She Can’t Even Wear A Cleavage.”

Anakin doesn’t even look guilty, a smug smile on his face. “Let’s get this off of you,” he murmurs, reaching out to Padmé, who’s wearing a simple - simple in her terms - shirt with puffy sleeves and golden, shimmering pants.

Anakin carefully takes the shirt off and Obi Wan reaches behind her, clasping off her bra with one hand.

“Ooh, what a skill, Master Jedi,” she says, delighted, and Obi Wan’s not even flustered, leaning down to kiss her cheek, then her neck, her collarbone, his hands wandering to hold her breasts.

“You two are so beautiful,” Anakin murmurs, his voice so soft and loving, caressing both of them. Padmé bites her lip, grabbing Obi Wan’s waist, and bringing him closer to her, his rough robes rubbing on her naked chest.

“Take this off,” she says impatiently, starting to untangle the front of his clothes, Anakin moving a little behind him to help her. It’s a wonderful feeling, standing so closely with both of them surrounding him, and Obi Wan’s light-headed with the feelings they all share and feed each other, his and Anakin’s loop getting stronger with every minute.

Finally, they’re all half-naked and Padmé tugs Obi Wan to the bed, walking backwards, dragging him up to kiss him. Obi Wan groans into her mouth, her chest rubbing now on his naked one, Anakin walking behind him, hands clasped on his hips, nose and lips subtly touching the back of his neck.

Padmé lets go of him, crawling on the huge bed, kneeling in her pants on the soft bedding. She looks at them, her eyes intense as she rests her hands behind her, leaning on them. Obi Wan’s held loosely in Anakin’s hold, who encircled his arms around him when Padmé has let go. 

Obi Wan turns around, his body growing hotter with the need to kiss Anakin, who happily leans to him, emoting content all around. Obi Wan keeps kissing him, deeply, hungry for every sound Anakin makes, ravenous to get them out of him, sucking on his tongue. He slowly starts going back, until his knees hit the frame, and he sits on the edge of the bed. Anakin doesn’t stop the kiss, now leaning down, the angle surely a pain on his spine, but he only makes those happy noises, placing his left knee on the bed next to Obi Wan.

“I want to suck you off,” Anakin gasps into his mouth, and a wave of heat hits Obi Wan, leaving him aching. He leans away, holding Anakin’s flushed face.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice thick from desire, and imagines Anakin, kneeling so beautifully, his perfect mouth wrapped around him, making those happy noises of his, the Force lulled by his happiness— 

“Yeah,” Anakin says, his voice rough, and he slides down to his knees. He looks up at him from under his eyelashes, his gaze dark and pupils dilated. Obi Wan spreads his legs more thanks to Anakin’s gentle pushing at his knees, and suddenly Anakin’s face is right in front of his tented pants.

“Are you sure?” Obi Wan asks gently as Anakin continues to stare, and Padmé quietly comes closer to them, kneeling on the soft bedding.

“Yeah,” Anakin rasps, his hands resting on Obi Wan’s knees. He swallows a few times, and says, roughly, “I just—”

“I can help you,” Padmé says, and before Obi Wan can say anything, she slides down on the floor. She looks up at Obi Wan, her eyes twinkling. “You don’t have to be nervous, sweetheart.” She kisses Anakin softly and Anakin melts down a little in her hands - Obi Wan watches them, transfixed, at the easy affection, and the way they look so beautiful together; the way they’re both between his legs.

They both gently take off his pants and Obi Wan cannot decide if he’s feeling a little intimidated with the way they’re both looking at him, or aroused beyond any imagination.

Padmé grasps his cock with one hand, her touch sure but delicate, and looks up at Obi Wan. “Are you okay with this?”

“Yes,” Obi Wan murmurs softly and places his hands on Anakin’s jaw. He leans down and kisses him, and Anakin immediately opens up his mouth, hungry for anything Obi Wan gives him. Obi Wan groans into his mouth, from the way Padmé’s hand rhythmically strokes him and from Anakin’s sweet submission. He leans back a little, and says, breathlessly, “You’re so beautiful.”

Anakin blinks up at him and licks his lips. He wraps his hand around Obi Wan’s cock, both his and Padmé’s working him up, and Obi Wan closes his eyes, the tension in his gut slowly but surely building up.

Anakin leans down, opening his mouth, and Padmé gently twines her hand in his hair. “You have to cover your teeth,” she says, throatily, and Obi Wan cannot decide on whom to look. “And don’t try to take too much at one time. Relax your jaw.”

Anakin makes a soft noise at her words, and finally takes Obi Wan into his mouth. Obi Wan opens his mouth, a quiet “ah,” punched out of him at the feeling of wet heat suddenly around him. Anakin tries to get used to the feeling, his tongue twirling and mouth opening up. 

“Relax,” Padmé continues in her soft voice, her hand still in Anakin’s hair, the second holding Obi Wan’s cock at the base. Anakin hums and relaxes his mouth, Obi Wan slipping more inside, and sucks a little.

Obi Wan bites his lips, the need to just rut into his mouth almost overwhelming, and he grips the sheets tightly. Padmé looks at him, a little amused, but her pupils are dilated, and a flush is surely working its way up to her face.

“Good,” she croons, and Anakin’s eyelids flutter, closing, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat. She tightens her hold on his hair, saying, “Now try to move up and down, and remember to suck on your way up.”

Anakin does as she says, his moves getting a little more sure with every instruction as he grows used to the feeling, breathing heavily through his nose. Padmé strokes Obi Wan gently on the lower part, as Anakin mostly stays focused higher, and a moan gets ripped out of his throat, the stimulation growing bigger and bigger. One of his hands stays on Anakin’s jaw, gentle, and with another, he touches Padmé’s face. She eagerly rises a little on her knees, meeting him in the middle for a kiss, her lips sweet and soft.

With a soft pop, Anakin leans back and watches them, his hand going back to stroke him, fingers intertwined with Padmé. Obi Wan’s head gets cloudy more and more, and he starts gasping into Padmé’s mouth, as she smugly kisses him, biting his lips teasingly.

“Force,” Anakin murmurs, and Padmé tightens her grip on his hair. He groans and she ends her kiss with Obi Wan, leaning back to Anakin and roughly kissing his wet and open mouth. Their hands still on Obi Wan’s cock, as they focus on each other.

Padmé finally leans back, leaving Anakin a little dazed. He moves his jaw a little, visibly getting used to holding it open for longer times. She licks her lips, the satisfaction at making them both such messes radiating all around.

“Move my head,” Anakin gasps, squirming a little. “Please.”

“Are you sure?” Padmé asks, her brow furrowing. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Anakin looks at her, then at Obi Wan, who’s silently watching them, rock hard in their loose grasp. He blinks, his eyes growing more and more unfocused with every second. “I trust you both,” he says, painfully truthful.

Padmé hums, tightening her hold on his hair and lowers his head with the grip. Anakin groans, his hands going to Obi Wan’s knees and grasping at them. “Open up,” she says, her voice velvet smooth, and Anakin’s mouth opens before she even finishes saying it.

They start slowly, Padmé’s hand sure but delicate, moving Anakin’s head, who’s making small noises, his eyes closed. Obi Wan begs Force for endurance - he’s not so young to come after a minute, but the way Anakin’s so pliant between them, the way Padmé moves his head, the way Anakin tries to suck, but eventually just relaxes enough for them to use him, for _Obi Wan_ to use him—

“Kriffing fuck,” Obi Wan groans, and both of their satisfaction flare brightly. They’re both so smug.

“Good boy,” Padmé croons, carefully forcing Anakin’s head lower as he grows soft under her touch. Anakin starts squirming and Obi Wan looks at him, liquid lava in his veins. He gently places his hand on top of Padmé’s, just holding, not moving his head, and Anakin moans, the sound muffled, spit all over his mouth. “Can you hold still for us?” Padmé asks gently, before saying, “Remember to breathe, baby.”

Anakin nods slightly, his head bobbing with the movement. Padmé drags his head up, before forcing it down, lower than before - Obi Wan feels more and more of his cock disappearing in his mouth, before the head hits his throat. Anakin tenses and Padmé shushes him softly. “It’s okay, relax. You’re okay.”

“You’re doing so well, dearest,” Obi Wan says, his voice rough, burning up from the inside. At the sound of his voice, Anakin relaxes, the cock in his mouth smoothly going further, until Anakin takes almost all of him into his mouth. Tears start forming at the corners of his eyes and Obi Wan cannot for the life took his eyes off him, the sight of him so trustful, so devoted, so _happy_ to be used by them—

Padmé drags him up, and Anakin gasps as she takes him off Obi Wan’s cock, the tears now falling freely, his lips wet from spit and precome. She holds him still, and asks, lovingly, “Are you okay?”

Anakin nods, desperate, squirming on his knees. Obi Wan strokes his cheek, and says, “You have to say it out loud, dear.”

“Open your eyes, baby,” Padmé says, and Anakin opens them - his eyes are unfocused, hazy. He blinks a few times, whining a little, and she murmurs, “Yes, good boy.”

“Are you okay?” Obi Wan asks and holds Anakin’s chin tightly, forcing his clouded and teared gaze on him.

“Yes,” Anakin says, his voice rough, his cheeks wet from tears, and chin shining from the spit. “Keep— Keep going. Please.”

Padmé leans to him and Obi Wan relaxes his hold, for her to turn his head to her. She strokes Anakin’s face lovingly with her free hand, and kisses him, lightly, on his open mouth.

She leans back and looks at Obi Wan, the want clear in her eyes. “And are you okay?”

“Yes,” Obi Wan says and clears his throat. Padmé sends him a smile, before she kisses Anakin’s temple, him still unfocused in her hands. She again brings his head down to Obi Wan’s cock, and Anakin moans happily. Obi Wan keeps one hand on his jaw and with other he tangles his fingers with Anakin’s on his knee, giving him one more point of contact to hold onto.

Padmé builds a rhythm, making both Anakin and Obi Wan slowly but surely a mess. Obi Wan’s breath gets ragged after a while, and he cannot control the way his hips start twitching a little and even rising, to meet Padmé’s moves of Anakin’s head. They both are careful with him, their touches gentle and not forceful, but Anakin gives no fight, soft like butter, radiating calm and happiness in the Force. Obi Wan lowers his shields, embracing Anakin in his pleasure, and Anakin flares in the Force, greedily grasping him, even though his mind is clearly too clouded to recognize anything more. They get him to take Obi Wan almost all the way a few more times and he takes it gladly, mouth hungry and desperate, tears free falling on his face.

“You’re so beautiful, Force,” Obi Wan groans, tightening his hold on Anakin’s hand, and Anakin returns his grasp, happy in his little bubble. Obi Wan feels how he’s slipping, the mindless pleasure Anakin’s feeling slowly seeping into him. “I’m—” he chokes out, the heat unbearable, and the squeeze in his gut getting dangerously strong. “I’m gonna come.”

“Anakin?” Padmé says, her voice gruff. “Baby, do you want to stop?”

Anakin whines, lowering his head for the first time on his own, reluctant to leave Obi Wan’s cock. Obi Wan moves his hand and starts caressing his face, his thumb catching the tears. “You’re so good, so perfect,” Obi Wan starts blubbering, starting to chase his orgasm, his hips making thoughtless circles, as Anakin moves up and down, sometimes sucking a little, but mostly just letting use his mouth however Obi Wan wants to. “Force, Anakin, look at you, you’re incredible—”

Anakin moans and opens his eyes, looking up at him, his eyes shiny, tears caught on his lashes, cheeks red and wet, lips wrapped around him; Obi Wan sees Padmé’s hand in his hair, and she moves her another hand to stroke Obi Wan at the base, her touch much more purposeful than before.

“Come for us,” she says, licking her lips, and Anakin hums, deep in his throat— Obi Wan’s a goner.

He groans quietly, the orgasm ripping through him, his limbs tensing up; Padmé moves Anakin’s head a little higher and twists her hand tightly, and it makes the orgasm even stronger, wrenching out of him and leaving him breathless, as grinds into Anakin.

He leans back on the bed to lie, his body suddenly too weak to hold him up. He feels that Anakin drags his mouth off, sucking him off dry, the sound obscene, and he blinks a few times, his thighs shaking, before getting up to lean on his elbows.

Anakin’s a mess - saliva and come all over his lower face, teared up, looking wrecked and used in the best way possible. Padmé’s hand finally relaxes, but Anakin looks too weak to hold his head up on his own, so Obi Wan sits up, and holds this beautiful face in his own hands, unable not to touch him.

“I love you,” he gasps and leans down to kiss him, even with spit and bitter come all over his mouth. “Fuck, Anakin, the things you do to me,” he moans into his mouth, embracing Anakin with all of the love and pleasure he’s feeling, and Anakin groans softly, his mouth so slack that he’s not even fully reciprocating the kiss.

Obi Wan feels a touch on his hand and after some seconds he gently ends the kiss, still holding Anakin, and looks to the side. Padmé’s looking at them, breathing heavily, her eyes so dark that they almost look black. She leans to them, kissing Anakin on his cheek and temple, the two of them embracing him, before she turns to also kiss Obi Wan - her touch heated and searching for a way to satisfy her want, Obi Wan relaxed and buzzing after his orgasm.

“Up, dear,” he murmurs softly, helping Anakin to stand up, as Obi Wan’s sure the man is unable to rise on his own - Force, his feet must be numb, now, from the time he’s spent kneeling. Padmé helps him raise Anakin, and he’s pliant under their touch, until they gently lay him on the bed. His pants are tented and wet on one spot, but he seems unaware of his arousal - Padmé gets up and goes for something to her drawer.

“Are you alright?” Obi Wan asks him, gently taking off his pants, hands caressing his strong body gently. Anakin hums a little, laying boneless, blinking slowly. Padmé crawls on the bed to him, and carefully wipes his chin with a wet cloth, her hands softly raking his hair and combing the hair stuck to his forehead away. “Words, my dear.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Anakin mumbles, his hands twitching. “Kisses?” he asks, hopefully, and Obi Wan looks at Padmé, amused, before they both lean in - Obi Wan starts kissing his cheek and jaw, and Padmé kisses his lips in earnest, lavishing affection upon him. 

“Padmé,” Anakin murmurs, one of his hands on Obi Wan and the other on Padmé. “Fuck me.”

“Are you sure?” Padmé says, but she’s clearly aroused and wanting some kind of release. 

Anakin rolls his eyes slightly. “Yes, I’m sure,” he says, but his voice is rough and weak. Obi Wan kisses him on forehead, a little desperate to see them pleasuring each other. He leans away and crawls back to rest against the frame. 

“Come here,” he says, and Anakin looks at him, his gaze still unfocused and fucked out, but Padmé understands. She helps Anakin to sit up and herds him gently between Obi Wan’s legs, with his back to Obi Wan’s chest. He circles his arms around him, resting his lips on Anakin’s temple, and caresses his chest a little, fingers playing with his nipples. Anakin groans, his head falling on Obi Wan’s shoulder, and he chuckles softly, twisting the nipple between his fingers. “You’re perfect for us, aren’t you?”

Anakin whines a little, his mouth open and panting. Padmé takes off her pants and crawls to them, her mouth caressing his knees and thighs as she goes up, until she sits on his lap, her hips making lazy circles. “Our good boy,” she croons, and Anakin’s eyes roll up, breath hitching. She grins at Obi Wan, who’s looking at her intently. She finally grasps Anakin’s cock and strokes it a few times, before she rises slightly and holds him up, lowering herself onto it. She moans softly as he enters her and Anakin’s hands tighten on her hips. Obi Wan cannot stop looking at them and if he was a few years younger, the stir in his gut would surely signify that something would poke Anakin’s back.

Padmé finally lowers herself entirely, hips twitching in his lap, getting used to the stretch. Her head leans back, neck long and inviting, breasts rising with every shallow breath. “Force, Padmé,” Anakin gasps as she starts to move, and she grins at them, her eyes hooded and hungry. She leans down to them, the angle changing a little, her palms on Anakin’s chest for support. She starts kissing him, and Obi Wan tangles his fingers in her hair, watching them.

They both pant and occasionally groan into each other’s mouth, their moves growing more and more desperate, before they simply rest their foreheads together, breathing into each other’s mouth and looking at each other's eyes. Their moves are so sure and familiar - Obi Wan can see that they have been having sex countless times before, but he doesn’t feel jealous - more excited, for all the future times he can share with them.

Padmé leans back a little and looks at him, puckering her lips - Obi Wan’s helpless and he strains his neck to reach her, a little uncomfortable, but still determined. She moans happily into his mouth, before mumbling, “You— Ah, next time— I— I want you to fuck me.”

A heady heat starts spreading through him, before Anakin whines between them. “No, I’m getting it first.”

Obi Wan feels laugh bubbling in him, and Padmé giggles, her voice high, “We can share, baby,” she says, before moaning a little, her moves slow but forceful, and Anakin hums, twisting his head a little to kiss Obi Wan on his neck. 

It doesn’t take much time for them to come — Padmé, breathless, her thighs tensing and getting Anakin as deep into her as she can, throwing her head back, with dark curls spilling on her back, and Anakin moaning softly, his hands tightening their hold, spilling into her, shuddering in Obi Wan’s arms.

Obi Wan holds them both through that, the Force singing with their pleasure and happiness, a constant loop of love surrounding him. Padmé gasps, grabbing Anakin, and says, “I love you.” She kisses him, once, twice, before getting off him, landing on her knees on the soft bedding next to them. She kisses Obi Wan lightly, before she lays down on her back, chest rising rapidly with her breath, a wide smile on her face, body relaxed.

Obi Wan kisses Anakin’s sweaty temple, and says, “Well, that wasn’t so bad.”

Anakin only mumbles something.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The next day Padmé goes early in the morning to the Senate for the vote and talks, as one of the major prosecutors as well as the person submitting the evidence to the Security Council.

“Don’t do anything stupid when I’m gone,” Padmé says to them, but looks at Anakin, as she gets ready, Obi Wan and Anakin still laying in her bed.

“Mhm,” Anakin says sleepily, straining his neck to kiss her lightly. “Good luck.”

“Tell us everything as soon as you can,” Obi Wan says, slightly more awake, as Padmé also leans down and pecks him on the lips. “And if anything happens—”

“Remember to call my Jedi cavalry, I know,” she says, her tone light, but tense lines all over her face - it will be a hard day for her, and Anakin feels anxious at the image of her, standing alone, publicly accusing the powerful Sith Lord in the corrupt Senate.

“May the Force be with you,” Obi Wan only says, worry radiating off him, as she sends them a smile and quietly gets out of the bedroom.

Obi Wan goes out sometime after her, despite Anakin’s protests.

“You know the Council needs me,” Obi Wan says, rolling his eyes, as Anakin tries to drag him to the bed to lay with him.

“Fuck the Council,” Anakin whines, and Obi Wan sighs, but still leans down and kisses his forehead, kneeling on the bed over him. 

“Please be careful,” he says. “I know you want to get out, but right now Padmé and Bail, and the Council, have it under control.”

Anakin grumbles a little, the uselessness making him irritable and annoyed — he still would do everything he did, protecting Ahsoka and Fives, but, well, living as a searched for a questioning runaway that protected his young apprentice who hid the wanted for an assassination attempt man—

It sucks, being unable to move around, unable to help his troopers and his Captain, with the knowledge of what was done to them and _who_ has done it.

After Obi Wan leaves, he spends some time wandering around the apartment, helping the cleaning droids, talking with Threepio, and trying to cook some dinner. During the midday, just as he’s expecting some kind of report from Padmé or Obi Wan, as they surely must have a break by now, his comm pings, but it’s not either of them.

It’s the Chancellor’s private line, used to invite Anakin for personal meetings. He stares at the device, the buzzing in his ears getting louder and louder.

“Anakin Skywalker,” he says, opening the line, his heart beating furiously. There’s something _rising_ in him—

“Anakin,” Palpatine drawls, his voice sharp, shaking something deep inside Anakin. “Do you think you could spare some time for a meeting with your old friend? I realize the past few days…” he drops, his voice getting _weird_ , and the hum in Anakin’s head gets stronger. “Were far from perfect, but I cannot wait to hear your version of events. I promise you no harm from the guards, as well. It’s a private matter.”

Something grabs Anakin by the throat, and he says, without thinking, “I would be honored, Chancellor. It all was a great misunderstanding.” He doesn’t recognize his voice, smooth and soft, hiding the rising anger inside him.

“I will wait, then,” Palpatine says, almost _warmly_ , and then ends the call, leaving Anakin staring at his comm.

It’s such a bad idea - Palpatine surely knows that he knows. The Security Council must have informed him by now of the vote between them taking place, and it’s a wonder he hasn’t executed the order by now— Maybe he’s counting for some kind of amnesty to try and hold the power, and starting the order would destroy any chances—

Anakin clenches his fists, the glove on his metal arm creaking. He knows he’s too unstable, too angry, the thought of Palpatine _daring_ to talk to him like that, still trying to _manipulate_ him—

“Master Anakin!” Threepio exclaims loudly as Anakin quickly walks through the apartment, grabbing the robe that’s laying on the chair. “What—”

“I’m going out, Threepio,” Anakin says curtly, almost by the door now, throwing the robe at his arms and the hood on his head. “If anyone asks, you know what to say.”

He gets out, his skin aflame, and he opens up to the Force, that sings _yes yes yes yes_ , almost overwhelming. The cold inside him tries to reach out, but Anakin lets the fury wash through him, not grabbing for it. Obi Wan’s voice echoes through his mind the whole travel from Padmé’s to the Senate, saying how he’s _allowed_ to feel anger, but he just has to let it flow through him, not leech off of it.

Sneaking through the security is morbidly easy, and if he wasn’t so focused on getting to Palpatine’s office, it would worry him a little. He only sends a quick message to Obi Wan and Padmé, saying, “at palpatine’s tell the council”. He knows they’re going to be angry as kriff about this, so he mutes his comm.

Right now, he’s only concerned with the Sith Lord, and soon he’s standing in front of his door, the guards nowhere to be seen. He tries to calm the waves steadily rising in him, almost on the brink of overflowing, and closes a little the gates connecting him to the Force, trying to mute the onslaught.

He opens the door himself, walking with his back straight and head held up high. The office feels cold and dark, sending a chill through him. He has no idea how he’s ever thought of this place as comforting. The door closes behind him, the click of it loud in the silence.

“Anakin,” Palpatine greets him, turning to face him in his chair, smiling kindly. Anakin walks to him, his steps stiff and fast, and says, “Chancellor,” not even blinking.

“My dear boy,” Palpatine begins, leaning in his chair against the desk.

“Why did you call me here?” Anakin interrupts him, gritting his teeth, clenching his fingers on the cold hilt of his saber inside the sleeve he keeps his arms in.

Palpatine watches him with dark eyes, and then stands, Anakin flinching at the move. He ignores him, standing in front of his enormous windows, looking at the Coruscant visible below.

“The news of your betrayal deeply saddened me,” Palpatine says finally, his voice jovial and conversational. “I would have never thought you would protect someone that has tried to kill me.”

Anakin breathes deeply through his nose, coating himself in as thick shield as he can, trying not to let anything slip. He won’t give Palpatine this satisfaction, not after everything. “Fives told me what you said,” he says past the boulder in his throat trying to choke him. “I know.”

Palpatine hums softly, turning to him, his face covered in shadow. “You know?” he asks, his voice calm and sweet.

Anakin grips the saber, ready to shut it on. “I know who you are,” he only says. 

“I’m your friend, Anakin,” Palpatine says, and Anakin growls, the rise of his fury silencing the pounding in his head.

“You’re not my friend,” he cries, taking out his saber and turning it on, the hiss almost as aggressive as him. “You’re the traitor of the Republic and I’m arresting you, in the name of Jedi.”

“The Jedi?” Palpatine asks, not even flinching at the blue blade spitting in Anakin’s hand. “You mean the Jedi that don’t trust you, that will always reject you, doubt you?”

“You know nothing,” Anakin says, gripping the hilt tightly, but not moving, the static in his head as loud as the beating of his heart.

“My boy,” Palpatine says, his voice suddenly cold. “I know _everything_ about you.”

Something pushes at Anakin’s shoulders, forcing him down, his knees hitting the floor instantly, making him cry out in pain. The presence is freezing, rotten, devouring everything on its way, just as a black hole, and Anakin cannot break its hold on him.

Palpatine holds him on the floor, Anakin’s muscles screaming, making him feel like he’s burning outside as well as inside. He’s unable to get up, and Palpatine looks down at him, distaste clear on his face. Anakin has no idea how he’s managed to hide from the Jedi for so long - he gags at the aura that’s surrounding them, making him dizzy, choking him like a smell of rotten corpses.

“You told me everything,” Palpatine drawls, coming closer to Anakin. “I know how nobody trusts you, how they all _despise_ you…”

“You know _I_ care about you,” Palpatine says, stopping in front of Anakin, whose face is streaked in tears, unable to move, the saber useless in his hand. Palpatine looks down at the blue saber and with a wave of his hands sends it to the side, the blade hissing as it gets turned off. Anakin cannot even turn his head to look where it landed.

“You can achieve anything with me,” Palpatine continues, looking down at him with almost care on his face. “I can give you the power—”

Anakin bursts out laughing, even though his face is still in tears from the pain. “Power? You mean the power the Senate is currently stripping you off of?”

Palpatine’s face grimaces in an ugly twist, and Anakin almost shudders, for the first time seeing this kind of expression on his face. “You fool,” he hisses. “You know nothing about the real power; the one that makes the Galaxy shudder. You think those weaklings can do anything to me?” He presses Anakin harder to the floor and he chokes, the breath stopping in his lungs. Palpatine grits his teeth. “I can offer you everything. You only have to join me.”

“And betray everyone who loves me?” Anakin wheezes out, trying to gather the Force, but the cloud surrounding them makes it hard, even for him. He doesn’t remember when was the last time he has felt so helpless.

“Love,” Palpatine spats. “You’re talking about _love_ when you don’t have anyone left in this world? When the people you trusted betrayed this trust, when Amidala _choose another_ over you, when Kenobi will never _care_ for you. They will always belittle you—”

Anakin feels the venom in his words seeping into him, poisoning his thoughts; he thinks about Obi Wan’s face as he confessed to murdering the Natives, disgust echoing in the Force. He thinks about all those years he has felt _alone_ , unwanted, his Master cold and aloof, people in the Temple unwelcoming. He thinks about his mother, alone, scared, in pain, and how nobody helped her— Feels the anger rising into him, the welcome cold lessening the pain in his body from Palpatine’s hold, caressing his face, and murmuring into his ear. He’s no Jedi and no matter how much they tried to fit him into their forms, he’ll never be— But, oh, the cold is so inviting, offering him everything he has wanted, with no shame, no need to _hide_ — He could be _finally_ free, truly this time—

“Love is a game for fools who want to believe in anything,” Palpatine says and lays a hand on Anakin’s cheek, the touch cold, fingers grabbing forcefully. “You’re strong, Anakin. Make me proud and join me, nobody will judge or _control_ you, with me all of the chains will be broken—”

And through the haze, tasting the blood on his tongue, the disgust at having Palpatine’s hands on his face, the anger rising rapidly and strongly, he suddenly remembers Fives words—

“The Sith Empire was built on the backs of the slaves,” he says and finds the strength to raise his head up, his neck screaming with the effort. He opens himself to the Force fully and grasps the dark tendrils, locking them up deep within himself, cutting out their screams. He breaks the chains himself. “I will never join you.”

The Force has screamed at him, once, the **_listen_** loud and tremendous, and Anakin, for the first time in his life has listened—

—and he still does.

“I will be no slave of yours,” Anakin spits, and _pushes_ , throwing all of his fury and disappointment and pain at Palpatine, breaking his control. The Sith takes a step back, and just as Anakin rises to his feet, he feels the wave of rage drowning him, completely encasing him, nearly blinding.

“Such _disappointment_ ,” Palpatine hisses, his eyes furiously yellow, roaring like a dragon in the Force. Anakin stands up and tries to push him away, but he’s still flabbergasted by the control he was under and now the onslaught of the dark. “So be it. I’ll destroy everyone you _love._ ”

Anakin tries to reach out for his saber, but before he can catch it, a bolt of lightning hits him, fraying his nerves and making him scream in agony. He was electrocuted many times in his life, even by other Sith, but Palpatine’s strength puts all of it to shame, boiling him alive in his skin, veins hurting as if they’re bursting, muscles coiled. He feels a metallic taste in his mouth, teeth forcefully gritted, and his eyes roll back as his body hits the floor, completely helpless and powerless.

“You should have been thankful, boy,” Palpatine growls, his voice nearly inhuman. “And now, after all those years of hopes— you’re still nothing.”

Anakin shakes on the ground, every second spent in pain, and he feels his brain melting. Something flares in him in panic, desperation before death making him act and think almost like an animal, grabbing at everything near him— He pulls to the Force with every strength he has, feeling how weak his body is becoming, it surely has been minutes by now—

The door opens with a bang and Palpatine, momentarily surprised, is thrown to the side by someone and it breaks the control of the lightnings. Anakin groans in pain, unable to do anything, the rise of the panicked Force in him immediately leaving as he’s not being attacked anymore.

“Anakin!” he hears a scream through the fog and he recognizes the voice, but can’t do anything about it. He feels terror rising in him at the thought of Obi Wan suffering similar torture and tries to babble something, but his tongue doesn’t move, jaw still clenched from the shock.

“Ah, Master Kenobi!” Palpatine says, joyfully. “Here to meet your pathetic end sooner?”

Anakin manages to turn his head a little and sees both of them from the floor, albeit blurry. Obi Wan looks horrified, his blade opened and hissing. He stares at Palpatine, his face twisted.

“Sidious,” Obi Wan says, his tone dangerous. Anakin has never heard him sound like this. “As a member of the Jedi Council, I’m arresting you for the crimes against the Republic. Give up now.”

Suddenly a lightsaber appears in Sidious’s hand, glowing bloody red, the scream of the crystal gritting Anakin’s ears. “I don’t think so, Jedi,” he growls and attacks, his movements furious, forgetting about Anakin.

Obi Wan quickly reacts and blocks his attacks, avoiding the hits, both of their moves too quick for Anakin, who’s still dizzy. He tries to reach for the strength at the tips of his fingertips, but the Force is too muffled for him now, and he would scream out in frustration if he could. He only watches as Obi Wan fights against the Sith, his moves powerful and sure, but it’s visible that the raw fury of Palpatine is taking its toll on him.

Obi Wan jumps back a little and twirls his lightsaber, his face stony. “I have defeated every one of your apprentices, Sidious,” he says, taunting him. “What makes you think your fate will be different?”

The dark around Palpatine grows stronger, the anger vibrating through the walls. Anakin really hopes the Jedi are on their way - he’s not really in the mood to see Palpatine destroy Obi Wan right in front of his eyes. His fingers twitch, but his lightsaber doesn’t move - Obi Wan doesn’t even look at him, completely focused on Sidious, slowly circling around the office.

“I will gut you out, Kenobi,” Palpatine says, a sadistic smile on his face. “You will choke on my blade and I’ll enjoy ripping your heart out, hearing your apprentice’s screams as he watches your _pathetic_ death.”

“You talk a lot for someone who has no chance of surviving this,” Obi Wan says, and his tone is no longer trying to be humorous. “You can strike me down, kill all of us - but everyone knows who you are and we’ll defeat you, and all of your plans will turn to _ash_.”

And then they fight again, their moves fast and slashing, Palpatine clearly not using all of his strength - what he’s waiting for, Anakin has no idea. He manages to rise his body a little, but the Force still doesn’t respond, no matter how desperately he pounds at it, begging, reaching, pulling.

Obi Wan’s losing and all of them feel it - Palpatine grows more and more joyous, his sick yellow eyes glowing, Obi Wan panting against the onslaught of the hits, avoiding any pushes and trying to overpower him, even as he’s much weaker in the Force. Anakin tries to move, his aching limbs protesting, despair filling him at the thought of watching Obi Wan fail. He shoved aside the dark side before, but it’s _always_ there, especially strengthened by Palpatine, pulling everything into its orbit, and right now it feeds on Anakin’s despair, urging him to just _reach_ , then he will have the strength to help his lover—

Palpatine kicks Obi Wan in the chest and the Jedi shouts, stumbling at the force of it. Sidious gloats, knocking off the lightsaber off his hand, taking full advantage of Obi Wan’s momentary distraction and forcing him to the ground, just as he’s done before to Anakin.

“Do you see?” Sidious finally looks at Anakin, Obi Wan groaning at his feet. The cold around him sings in victory. “This is what happens to those who oppose me. You cannot defeat me.”

He raises his lightsaber and Anakin desperately reaches out, his fingers grasping at nothing - Obi Wan looks at him, stopping the useless fight against Palpatine’s so much stronger presence, and his eyes are defeated, but full of love. Anakin feels the brush of him against his mind, still Light and warm, despite the loss, and he feels the tears, constantly streaming down his face. His heart stops, and he thinks _no, not like this_ , and looks at the dark, always at the reach, thinks, _not now, not ever_ , thinks how _easier_ it could be— He could make Palpatine kneel, pay for all that he’s done— But he cannot kill him, even after everything he’s done— He has loved this man for so long—

There’s a hiss and then a buzz. Palpatine gasps, his arms stopping in the air, the strike not falling down at Obi Wan. The lightsaber falls off his hands, hands too weak to hold it anymore, and the cries of the tortured crystal finally stop.

He has a blue blade sticking out of his chest, the plasma spitting angrily, the crystal screaming in fury. The blade twists, and the dark around Palpatine suddenly gets sucked off, the tendrils returning to him, the silence after constant onslaught almost rumbling with the impact.

Sidious opens his mouth to say something, the look on his face furious and afraid, but Obi Wan rises, not nearly as paralyzed as Anakin after minutes of electrocution. He summons his lightsaber, turning it on mid-flight, and rises it just as Palpatine falls to his knees, his body useless. He cuts his head off in one clean strike, Sidious still alive and looking at him with fear and rage, and the body thumps at it falls, followed seconds after by a softer thud of the head hitting the ground. There’s no blood.

Padmé stands behind where Sidious was, her back to the open door of the office. She’s wide eyed, the blue glow from Anakin’s blade surrounding her and her face, almost softly. She blinks and looks at them, at Anakin frozen mid-reach, his muscles still spasming and limbs trembling, and Obi Wan, now holding his lightsaber at his side with no strength, exhausted, looking at Padmé slack-jawed.

“Well,” she finally says, turning off the lightsaber. “The Council voted in favor. He was declared unfit to hold the position any longer.”

  
  
  


(Hours later, after another Jedi arrive, with Anakin's head in her lap, Obi Wan sitting next to them, Padmé says, “I couldn’t let this monster force you to kill him.”

Anakin sobs in her touch. “I’m so proud of you,” Obi Wan gasps, leaning down to rest his forehead against his, both of them grasping at each other in the Force, even if Anakin still feels it much weaker than normally. “You refused the dark side— I have only wanted to spare you from doing this— I know you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you had killed him.”

“I almost did it,” Anakin whispers, his heart beating with fear. “I was ready to embrace it— I couldn’t bear watching him hurt you— If he killed you, I don’t know what I’d do—”

“But you didn’t,” Padmé only says.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Come, young Obi Wan,” Yoda says, patting the ground next to him, and Obi Wan goes quietly, sitting on the grass in front of one of the biggest tree in the garden. “Many news, I have heard, hmm.”

“Master,” Obi Wan says, his voice soft - he’s not ashamed of his decision, but it’s still hard to look the old Master in the face. “I know the war—”

“The war,” Yoda scoffs. “The war intrest me does not. Worried about you, I am. If your decision a good one is, yes.”

Obi Wan breathes out through the nose, the sun shining on his back, water from the fountains splashing softly in the background. The whole world feels lighter, even with the war, as nearing the end as it is - the veil of the dark has been lifted, and every being, no matter if sensitive or not, feels it.

“I will always follow the Jedi way however I can,” he says finally, watching one of the Crèche guardians wandering with his clan, the younglings looking around with wide eyes. “But I cannot remain in the Order, be in the Council, knowing that I feel how I feel.”

“Choosing your attachment you are,” Yoda hums, thumping his stick a little on the grass. “The path to the dark side, attachment is, if uncontrolled.”

“With all respect, Master,” Obi Wan says, turning to look at Yoda. The Master’s face is kind, despite his words. “Both Anakin and I have been tempted by the dark side, and yet our attachment has not dragged us into it. I feel— I feel it’s making us stronger, more trusting. I will never leave the Light. But I’m sure that the Order is not my place anymore.”

“Yours decision it is,” Yoda sighs, frowning a little. “Understand it, I do not, but respect, I do. The Force other plans for you has, yes. Miss you, we all will.”

Obi Wan smiles kindly, his heart aching a little at the thought of leaving this place and all of the people inside it. He knows leaving the Order will leave a hole in him that he won’t ever fill. But living here in a lie would be so much worse, and Obi Wan can imagine the resentment that would cloud and fill him, the hatred that would slowly, but surely eat him up, until—

Well. It’s better to leave.

“I will also miss the Order,” he says, and stands up. “I hope— I hope that the Jedi know that I will always help, however I can. Both Sidious and Dooku are gone, but—”

“Silly boy,” Yoda says, hitting his knees lightly with the stick, and Obi Wan blinks, taking a step back, more at shock than at any pain. “Visit us, you must. Yes, many visits expect we will. Forget about us, do not think you can.”

Obi Wan laughs a little, the teasing unexpectedly warming his heart. Yoda rises from his seat, helping himself with the Force. “Come,” he says, kindly, and starts walking towards the entrance, waving back at the bold youngling who waves at him, all other giggling and scattering around, their Guardian shaking his head. “Discuss the matter, the Council has to. Still a member of the Council you are, yes?”

Obi Wan starts walking, his heart getting heavier with every step, but he thinks what awaits him besides those walls, all the futures that spread out, countless possibilities. He thinks that it fills him, surprisingly, with hope.

  
  


(“Ahsoka,” Anakin says two days after Sidious’ death as she visits him in the Healing Halls, Obi Wan seating on the chair next to the bed. “We have to tell you something.”

Ahsoka has visited him a few times already, first full of terror and anger at him being so reckless, then more calmly, just to keep him company and fill him on what’s he’s missing, isolated in the Halls. She talks about how Fives and Rex are doing, finally getting back to their brothers after being cleared from the charges. She talks about how the Senate is in the uproar, wanting to prosecute Anakin and Obi Wan, but Jedi are firmly protecting them, pushing for more freedom and less meddling from the Senate. There are still some laws about Siths from the Old Republic, making the kill basically legal, but it’s the subject of debate for many hours, Palpatine’s allies throwing accusations around.

Anakin’s been anxious to see Padmé, with her enduring the most of it, being one of the suspects, not protected by _being_ a Jedi - but she’s still standing free, the Order excusing her and her actions, and it’s _such_ a mess, all around.

Ahsoka looks at them, something anxious in her eyes, and Anakin sighs. “It has nothing to do with you,” he says softly. “I think we still got a few months, with the war, but— We will leave the Order, in the future.”

Ahsoka’s quiet, her eyes big. Her lip begins to quiver a little. “Oh, little one,” Anakin says and forces his body to move to grasp her hand in his, squeezing it. “I promise, I would do anything to lead you entirely to your Knighthood - it’s my biggest dream. But—” He looks at Obi Wan, who’s watching them silently, his eyes sad. “We have chosen a path different from the Order, and as soon as we can leave without it being fatal in results, we will. I just— I just wanted to let you know, so you can prepare for it,” he ends, weakly, helpless.

Ahsoka clears her throat a few times, her eyes blissfully dry, but she doesn’t take her hand out of Anakin’s grasp - good, because Anakin feels like he would shatter if she rejected it. “Is this about—” She looks between them uncertainly. “About, you know, your thing?”

Anakin licks his lips and feels his cheeks heating up - Obi Wan emotes a wave of embarrassment before he grasps his shields tighter. “Yeah,” he finally says. “It’s about that.”

“I’m not—” Ahsoka starts, also a little embarrassed. “I’m not, like, judging you for it or anything— Of course I don’t _understand_ , you know, but—” She sighs and her arms droop a little. “It just sucks, to know that you will leave us behind.”

Leave _me_ behind, resounds around them.

“Ahsoka,” Obi Wan starts, leaning more to them, and Anakin gladly basks in his warmth and presence, the sole fact of him being _here_ , near Anakin, safe, calming him. “You have grown up so much, and we’re very proud of you— I think I can say that you’re the best Padawan Anakin could ever ask for.” Anakin nods with a smile and Ahsoka’s face gets a little darker. “It has nothing to do with you and you must know that— That we’ll always enjoy your company and we’re hopeful that you will still keep in contact with us.”

“Of course,” Ahsoka nods, but she’s still troubled. “I—I greatly value you both, Masters. You are wonderful teachers. Especially you, Skyguy.”

Anakin feels warmth exploding in him, the love for his little Padawan bursting, and he forces himself not to hug her, knowing how she feels about the touchy stuff.

“I actually think you have a chance of getting Knighted before we leave,” Obi Wan throws, his smile kind and warm. “You have proven many times how great of a Jedi you are, and your quick thinking the last few days was probably one of the main reasons we are here, with bright future nearing. The Council values you and your actions greatly.”

“You really think so?” Ahsoka eyes, her eyes starry. “That would mean that I could beat you up, Master, and get Knighted sooner than even you had,” she throws at Anakin, trying to loosen up the tense atmosphere a little, and Anakin hums.

“Nothing would make me more proud,” he says, and it rings true all around them.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“This feels weird,” Anakin keeps saying, picking at his shirt, grimacing a little. He still has to get used to the feeling of emptiness on his belt, the lightsaber no longer here. He thinks that he will probably build another himself in a few months - it’s driving him crazy, not being able to use the blade, the knowledge of being unprotected sitting heavily in his gut.

“Stop touching that,” Padmé says, hitting his hands. “You’ll wrinkle it.”

“Is this really necessary?” Obi Wan sighs, the lack of tunics, tabards, and robes hitting him the hardest. Anakin still thinks that he mostly suffers from the fact that he cannot throw down his robe dramatically anymore - he was really fond of this move.

“Yes,” Padmé bites. “If you won’t cooperate, I will hide you in a closet and you won’t be allowed to leave for a few hours.”

Obi Wan brightens at that, the idea of leaving the party clearly delighting him, and Anakin snorts, flicking him on the chin. “I can be your arm candy,” he drawls, enjoying the dry amusement from Obi Wan and Padmé’s eye roll. “We can even indulge in some debauchery in the corner and make everyone talk about it for days.”

Padmé frowns, placing her hands on her hips. “I will not,” she says, “make a spectacle of myself, not now.” She grips the bridge of her nose, and Anakin leans, kissing her on the forehead, and embraces her. “I know, I’m joking.”

Obi Wan’s still looking at the clothes distrustfully, looking all kinds of charming and ravishing in his civilian clothes - Stars, if he made Anakin go crazy in his Jedi robes, it’s nothing compared to this. Obi Wan throws him a look, feeling his thoughts in the Force, and Anakin grins shamelessly.

“You’re here just to help me,” Padmé says, but she relaxes a little in Anakin’s arms, swinging lightly. “You know. Charm some people. Confuse them about your status. Make a few jokes.”

“I hate jokes,” Obi Wan says, like a grumpy old man. “What’s funny about corruption.”

“We can’t go swinging in blades anymore,” Anakin drawls, enjoying the glare Obi Wan sends him. “Master, who would’ve thought you would miss all that action and risk.”

“Yeah,” Padmé continues, grinning at him. “It’s not like you’re an adrenaline junkie, Master Jedi.”

“Not a Jedi,” Obi Wan says, but he comes closer to them, his moves clearly showing that he’s given up. “I just miss—”

“Doing something, I know,” Anakin murmurs, and Obi Wan rests a palm at the small of his back, the pressure making him melt a little. “You know that in a few days we’re leaving for that relief mission.”

“Oh, how I will miss you both,” Padmé groans exaggeratedly, throwing her arms around Obi Wan’s neck. “What will I do without my whiny, dramatic Jedi,” she says, kissing his cheeks a few times, Obi Wan squinting at the onslaught, but not pushing her back.

“You’ll get bored in three hours and you know it,” Anakin throws, silently thinking how _now_ she’s not grumpy about wrinkling the clothes.

“Maybe.” Padmé rolls her eyes, still hanging herself on Obi Wan, who’s clearly done with their antics. He hasn’t moved back, though - Anakin’s always kind of amazed by the strength of his love.

“Why am I still here,” Obi Wan asks himself, as Padmé drags him for a kiss, Anakin humming contently beside them.

“You know why,” he just says, grinning.

They’re fashionably late for their own party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahsoka, standing under the shower, only a room away from the very mushy, very loud feelings anakin and obi wan keep screaming at each other in the force, probably bombarding her with it: can i get a towel CAN I PLEASE GET A TOWEL
> 
> after all of this, i imagine anakin and obi wan get restless with not being at the center of action after, like, three days, and they get tangled in all kinds of shenanigans at the outer rim, fighting slavery and corruption and basically giving a middle finger to the entire senate. if we're really getting into fantasies, i imagine sometimes they work with hondo and he gets the Outfits for Aesthetics, and obi wan with anakin parade around in pirate attire. anakin finds a great space therapist and actually sorts his stuff out with a profesionalist, you know, in a healthy way. even obi wan gets a few sessions. man's got a lot of shit going on.
> 
> padmé of course pretends she knows nothing about her vigilante husbands and after some time of trying to end the corruption and fighting for clone rights, she says fuck it and leaves the politics for everyone else, she's too old for this (padmé, you're not even 30). like, sometimes u gotta fight the system from the inside, but sometimes it's not even possible. fuck it. they wander around and save galaxy and then probably stay at naboo and in the meantime, the twins show up and Knight Tano of course visits her family to illegally help them with stuff she knows nothing about, nuh-uh. cody ressigns from his position as soon as palpatine dies, it's too much paperwork for him. fives actually finds out he's force sensitive at the temple and starts some kind of movement for jedi clones, arguing that TECHNICALLY they're children, so, you know, they're still appliable for joining. suddenly some clones are doing crazy jedi stuff and the commanders are done, they have had ENOUGH, they deserve retirement.
> 
> the council has an album of photos of the twins sent them by obi wan every few weeks. they also pretend they know nothing about certain slavers getting choked by chains.
> 
> everyone is happy.

**Author's Note:**

> every time i had doubts about the legitimacy of some scenes — war and political things are really not my forte and it probably shows — i remembered that they literally threw “SOMEHOW palpatine is back” in the newest movie and they explained absolutely nothing, so, you know. my fic is not that bad in terms of at least trying to attain some accuracy.
> 
> the second part will be posted in a few days, probably, because it's all written and i've just decided to separate it into two parts, not to publish one big monster. if you liked it, please let me know!! (yall remember how i said in _like a heathen_ that i wrote it instead of studying?? yeah, i have those exams next week and i literally wrote almost 40k in like one week.) if you see mistakes, please forgive me, it wasn't beta'd and im too tired to read it for the 40th time and actually notice any typos.
> 
> if you're here, remember that BLACK LIVES MATTER, and if you're at the protests, please be careful. if you're not, consider donating to bail funds/memorial funds if you're able to, and make your activism known. it's not going to be a happy pride.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at [anakincries](https://anakincries.tumblr.com) where i mostly just reblog funny star wars posts lol


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